Scatterbrainy

Philosophy(a) about literature, language and discarded moments from the junkyard of my mind

Trust me, I'm telling you stories.

Certain things should not be thought, let alone put down in writing.

Like how I should be satisfied with all that I am and that is my life.

And still, at times, when the world slows down slightly, I find myself in doubt.

I am one of the lucky ones, indeed the girl with the golden hair.

Responsible, good, successful at what I do.

Doing what I enjoy and am skilled at, all the while making good money.

Living comfortably, without worries and with opportunities everywhere to be found and seized.

Loved people around me- close and far-  but they're out there.

I know all this, and yet, some nights..

I use the term Weltschmerz loosely, knowing it is not quite what I suffer from, but close enough.

Sure, I spend a lot of time dreaming, telling myself stories of other worlds, another time
but what takes up most space is the thought of everything I could be doing.

Right here, in this world, this life.

Suddenly my life appears to me; neat, constrained, compartmentalized.

My choices artificial and their consequences nothing short of a punishment to endure.

Money in the bank and a self-illusive assurances that I am doing the right thing.

And perhaps I am.

But what if I am not?

What does that make me?

Nothing falls into the mouth of a sleeping fox.

the feeling of "never being satisfied" runs in the family. Cute fox btw