I’m sprawled out on the couch right now and I’m a little tipsy off of some sauvignon blanc I liberally added to my body while cooking dinner and I’m listening to Taylor Swift’s 1989 on repeat until my ears bleed and I’m not happy. Fuck being happy. I’m sick of trying to be happy. You know what I want to be and what I am right now? Alive.
I’m sick of the maddening sprint toward happiness. We’re driving ourselves crazy, ragged, stressed, for some high, some glimmer of a shininess, of a happiness. Why? Who said we need to be happy? Who said we deserve it? Who cares? What’s the whole point of it?
We’re unhappy because we’re not happy. We’re miserable because we’re not happy. We’re chasing happy, we’re choosing happy, we’re thinking positive! thoughts! Always positive! Always happy! Chase, choose, chase, choose.
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