Going Places

Actually, not proverbially. I am hesitant to call it otherwise, like 'travel,' because what I do is not. I think I would be good at traveling, though. I like putting clothes in a bag and just leaving...similar to shoplifting but with less material reward and more long-term guilt-free joy. I eventually like to come home, but too much home is not a good thing. Too much home is too much stagnation.

When I leave this apartment I will miss it. I will say, 'Oh, look at this picture I took of it when it was freshly cleaned and organized and adorable!!!' Now it's just an underappreciated 200 sq feet of wood floors in which I sleep and waste my life away.

In as many ways as I think I am a mature adult, I still think like a child.
I still think that one day I will be rich.
I still think that one day I will travel in style.
I still think that one day I will be a fashionable young mother.
These are all things that are definitely not coming to me but I refuse to see it. I know it, but hold on to the hope that my reason and understanding of life and myself and my place and everything I've learned about how it works is wrong.

It's not.
I'm this.

I'm not even burning from both ends, just the top and it's slow and boring and when I'm done, I'll be replaced.

What's funny is I'm actually happy, but some of the shit I say...damn!