I don't know who to be more jealous of, the stripper turned screenwriter or the journalist profiler. Why them, why not me? Oh yeah, they actually pursued dreams instead of just living them in their heads. Shit, you mean I can't just sit here and be bitter and wonder why other people have all the luck? You mean I might have to actually decide at some point that if I want my life to have meaning--or at least have meaning to me--I'll need to take some actions and do some work? Crap, that doesn't sound fun. It's lot easier just to be hating on everyone else's good fortune.
Of course, it was also a lot easier to be a completely miserable fuck who blew all his money (not that it was much, but that's not the point) on excess living. It was easier being the guy determined to do the same thing over and over again expecting the results to be different.
But eventually I was given the gift of desperation and started to stop digging and start climbing. Might be time to do that again soon. I just need to pound this out here so I can remember that eating poison and waiting for someone else to die is a fool's game.
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Sounds like a rough day, Rambla. Check out my sappy post today.
I took a few cues from Stuart Smally.
I hope it works. Worth a shot anyway.
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