Not on the melancholy hill

For some strange fucking reason, I feel satisfied. I am not sad. I feel like I’ve done enough of a purpose to myself and society and to my family. At least for today. I’ve talked to friends, maybe not as much as I like but whatever.

Today I drove. A lot. I drove in highways, strange fucking race-car-like roads that are technically in the state where I live !

I liked driving. I went to one of my dad’s friends from work apartment with my mom and dad, we were invited to a dinner. He lives in some kind of a paradise. There’s a supermarket in his gated community ! It’s gigantic ! There’s so many houses surrounded by the woods. Looks like a lotta rich people live there.

Not necessarily high-class rich people but middle-high class who still work but do a pretty nice living. Guy’s living the dream.

I mean, this guy lives in an apartment. It’s a nice living I suppose. there are many people with houses there so I suppose he’s technically one of the ‘poor’ from there but he sure seems to be making shit-loads of money. good for him!

anyways, i think I’m making this too much about him. and this is about me. i felt satisfied because, well… maybe because I drove or maybe because I did homework.

Or maybe cause I talked to a good friend whom I’ve known for not so much time but still provides great influence over intellectual curiosity and over my mind.

That’s it. what, is this an essay? am i supposed to end formally if i am to be a professional writer ? hmmm, that’ll be a question for another day to answer…. or maybe you could answer it and tell me how i should live my life.