Many days go by with me not wanting to be me.
If you knew “me” then you would know “me” is, objectively by societal standards, a fucked up guy. Few people know “me” though. Good or bad? I’m not sure…
It would be so nice to be normal — to want the wife and 2.5 kids and the white picket fence and all that hoopla.
“Me” is not that.
I try to hold it in.
It doesn’t do me any good except get me depressed about it all.
“Me” looks generally normal in every day life. The thing that makes “me” strange is the long hair, though people have long since accepted that about “me.” I’m guessing most people think “me” to be successful — they would be right. I was lucky.
I was in the right place at the right time in many occasions. You can call it luck, or you can call it preparation — it’s hard to say. In the end though “me” is not hurting for money — “me” has a job and isn’t stretching to make the mortgage. “Me” is lucky in that regard.
“Me” isn’t all that happy… truth to the money doesn’t buy happiness I guess.
I am tired of “me.”
I am “me.”
Nothing to do but embrace “me” as the I that I am.