of fabled dreams and hopes which make each passing day a little bit more doable. Guess this goes out to those out there who might be feeling the same way- somehow trapped within a loop of life so mundane it's coiled into a relentless and perpetual ritual that can run on autopilot.
The upside is you can not pay as much attention and still achieve the same results. The downer being waking up 30 just to realize it's nothing more than just a number -but you're much closer to dying than you were before and you still are clueless. That's just annoying and depressing at the same time - like oprah; sampling ideal slices of possible lives; dangling it, more like- only to find out you'll quite likely only be able to achieve it if you read 'The Secret'.
Nevertheless, it's still shit like that which keeps us going- that little cliche ray of hope. Otherwise life just feels like a "frustratingly upsetting and complicated, kaleidescopic mess of elaborate, irritatingly necessary tarnished hateful experiences, forlorn and cynically epic." Or f.u.c.k. m.e. i.n. t.h.e. f.a.c.e. for short, since everyone knows 'of' isn't a real word anyways.