Hundred words are racing through my mind this very moment but one line keeps sticking like a glue - life sucks! Life sucks big time. If there is a case of sudden loss of self realization between adulthood rebellion and mid-life crisis, I just might label myself as that. Writing, as a way of exonerating this uncertainty over life in general, never fails to work its magic and God forbid, what Sean Connery in Finding Forrester applies here – that, “I am not writing for anybody but myself, ” or something to that effect. So, pardon the high-schoolish rants...
I am sick and tired of the rat race so I decided to break away from it all – work, grad school, anything that has to do with using too much brain cells. I was hit by a realization that what I have been doing for the past 23 years of my life is exhausting myself into getting a good education, good work and good life that even a weekend doing nothing depresses me. In short, whereas before, getting a life never bothers me, now it frightens the hell out of me that I haven’t been experiencing that much. Never mind that I am 23 and supposed to be pursuing and exploring the greater heights of my career (if there ever is one) or doing things befitting my age. Duh, who dictates what I’m FIT to do?
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