I think I’m grown up to be a commitment-phobe. How very sad! I know it’s wrong of me to not dive deep into the sea of experience, and only float on the surface like a rotting log, letting the waves carry me where they would. But when I start to think about what I am and where I’m going, being distracted just seems a much more engaging and ironically productive fork in the road. This is how I can end up watching Full House again (fast-forwarding through the many slow bits) and pushing some freelance work right to the very last (also again).
Sometimes I do end up trapped into some proper thinking, though. Lately, I realised that I couldn’t care less about having crapola loadsa money. I’ve got everything I need and earn a comfortable living (bearing in mind the fact that I ain’t supporting my parents in their old age yet), so much of what my peers slog and pine and whine for just don’t interest me. Not dissing their desires here. Just peering into my crystal ball, and seeing a wasteland ahead, as usual. The house by the sea, the bookshoppe on the village square, the quiet nights of quiet stars and strumming on a guitar … it’s plenty enough that they reside in my mind.