Living for the weekend isn’t living.

When I was younger I used to escape reality all the time…

Reading, TV shows or movies, music and daydreaming. All of it on the daily…

I used to dream before going to sleep, just to experience certain things I felt were so far from reality… Not human reality, just my current reality.

Escaping. I guess that was my thing, I loved to escape and imagine myself being someone else, living some other life… I guess that was what kept me going, the hope that better times would come? I’m not sure… But it was my drug.

Now? Today… It’s like life is just… Meaningless. Everything is as unreal as it is real.

We’re like ants on this planet except we cause destruction, pain and suffering. Our existence is causing everything on earth to die… Yet we’re too selfish to see that…

We wake up everyday to go to work. Make money so we can ‘survive’ and keep the cycle going. We live for the weekends… How wrong is that? The weekend is 2 days out of the 7 days of the week. Which basically means we only enjoy about 30% of our week… So only about 30% of our entire life is truly enjoyed? If we live to see 100 years that would be 70 wasted years… Honestly, that’s not a life worth living in my eyes… Every day should be enjoyed, and the start of the week should  be what we look forward to – a new week, clean slate. Not the weekend, because then we’re living wrong. Then we live for things to end and not for things to start… And that doesn’t really seem right, does it?

Right now, I won’t lie… Every day is a struggle, I try to remind myself how lucky I am and grateful… But when you’re in the middle of a storm that just seems to get worse, its not easy. And in reality it’s my own fault that the storm isn’t calming down but only getting worse… Yet I feel like I don’t have the power to stop it… Or perhaps even the will… All because I don’t see the point? I don’t start and not finish – this is why I’m going through the storm – no other reason. I don’t know anymore about anything and quite frankly I wish the level of writing I’m at right now would be the same for my paper – but it’s not. I’m tired. I’m sick and tired of putting myself through this pressure… I’m stressing, I know, but honestly I am not enjoying this… But I just have to, like a duty, I just have to get it over with… It’s not out of love or passion, it’s out of principle and obligations. It’s not from the heart it’s from the head.

Sometimes I truly wish I could just daydream and make it reality – how wonderful would that be?


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