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Last day on earth


I've started suspecting that living miserably is considerably easier that living happily or fulfilled. Because aren't most of us just mainstream whiny cowards?

But then I get out of bed & make the same black tea & the same grainy toast and sit at my desk for an hour & stare at the emails & folders & jobs I don't really care about, like deep down, if it was my last day on earth I would drop all these jobs in a blink & run the opposite direction, not sure where, because I don't know what I really care about yet but I'm sure I would drop & run. 

I write, I take photos, this is me trying to live these days. Maybe it's cowardly to be this unmotivated. Maybe it's not. I can't tell anymore, can't remember the last time I was delighted to know if I'm not, so this is pretty normal right now. Except... if it was my last day on earth, I'd be soooo pissed. Wouldn't you?


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