billybillybilly

Today kind of worked out, in the end.

I sort-of realized that I am an unhappy person. Just generally. I looked at my day on paper (so to speak) and it was a wonderful day. But why I wasn't feeling it was odd to me...all signs pointed to What the Fuck???

I'm doing much better now. My car is fixed. I got a call for a job interview that miraculously worked out to be after my trip home, so there aren't any scheduling problems. I ate a good meal, had more than my fair-share of Starbucks. Does that not sound like an excellent day?

For some odd reason it wasn't. But I'm doing fine now...why? Well, I'm thinking because it's over. I can go to fucking sleep. I can put myself to bed knowing that there are no loose ends, and it worked out the way it should have.

And I look forward to running around a park somewhere, jumping off swing sets like when I was even smaller than I am now, and maybe climbing a tree. I think that maybe I'll dream about that. Seems like a perfectly fine thing to do.