Mundane Mondays.

With one hopeful reach with my left hand towards my glasses on my night stand, I came to the realization that some things about me are just plain old, um, old. It’s not just that my left hip is twisted which causes lower back pain, it’s not the fact that I squint to read things that are far away and need glasses at night when I’m driving, it’s the blunt reality that I’m 22 years old and I find myself wondering why the world is seemingly staying the same age, albeit terminally sick, and I appear to be aging faster than the fictional character: Benjamin Button. The robotic monotony of Monday’s plague me; I need to feel like I’m needed, like I have to do something. Always. But only sometimes. At least in my own head, in theory, I am somewhat of a needy and insecure person. But aren’t we all? Don’t we all crave that narcissistic validation of not only our families and friends, that’s incidental, but of anyone in proximity of our invisible martyrdom? Something inside of me told me long ago that as soon as I found someone to love, I would then find my direction in life. But maybe it wasn’t direction at all, maybe I was running a relay, not a marathon, and the next person that receives the torch was me, I handed it to myself. In some diabolical sense, I am on a never ending pursuit to truly be satisfied. To be let down is as common as getting the mail every day, for me. But it is this innate ability to identify minuscule disappointments that make my life, at least to me, worth living. Deep down I know that I will look back on these days, these mundane Monday’s, god willing I’m alive, and I will laugh. Life is magic, but we’re all pretend magicians…

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