Maybe my problem is that when I finally find what I'm looking for, I forget to remember how long it took me to find it. If I'm inspired by anything lately, it's been the feeling I get late at night when I toss and turn and light another cigarette because something keeps making me unable to relax and fall asleep. Maybe I'm so lucky in my life to have this down time that I'm unable to appreciate it because it disguises itself as a notion of feeling trapped. I feel like I'm fighting for the right to be lonely and depressed and oddly enough when that moment hits me most is when I'm finally able to write.

It kills me to think that maybe my problem stems from the reality that I really have nothing to complain about; (other than the fact I would like a bit more money, and a vacation lasting more than a week.) As sad a disposition and as cold a reputation I have for opening up to anyone at anytime, this is my hypocritical moment. This is the time when I say I don't really have it that bad, when in fact I have it quite good. But for all my whining and complaining and the pouting that I'm known for, what I really wish I was infamous for is something new to call my own, and something lucrative to take up most of my time. Maybe then I'd be able to realize how good it really is to be me.