pokes

It's been so long since I've taken life seriously that, upon awakening from my prolonged dope-induced stupor, I find myself without much creativitiy, cuiosity, or ambition. Needless to say, this causes me great distress. In so much as I've been a practicing escapist for so long, I feel almost without identity. What exactly are my true interests and desires? I know what I like, but that's more a matter of taste. However, being able to translate your interests to your lifestyle, namely your livelihood, requires a foundation I feel myself without. I suppose I'm left with no course of action other than to either get working, without any real opportunity or get studying, without any clear direction. Much though I want to tell myself that I have time, or perhaps "all the time in the world", it's that very sentiment which has allowed me to land myself in this prospectless predicament. Growing up is no fun but being forced to mature hurts.