I had a very happy childhood.
I feel that I can look back with few regrets, and I wasn't terribly scarred.
Unfortunately, I do think much of what made my early youth so pleasurable, is now responsible for much of my young adult suffering. Mainly, the fact that I don't know how to cook for myself, or work a vacuum cleaner.
Yes, both of these examples are exaggerations, but today especially feels like a wake up call. I quit my job. I have some regrets, but I am really glad that I don't have to go back there. I need a job that doesn't lend itself so easily to whiskey breakfasts and a deep seeded loathing for humanity. "The sides are listed right where it says 'Signature Combos,' right there, which you must have seen because that's what you fucking ordered."
I also wanted my freedom.
How starry eyed of me.
I'm not going to starve. I just need to lay off my delicious food habit. Learn to cook. That's step one.
Step two is the bigger question of housing.
This apartment is NASTY.
It smells and no one cleans. It's dark. The shortage of windows make for little air flow. There is no microwave, blender, or supply of wash rags.
All taken for granted.
I've been distracted from this post.