Where is that layer of stability that is supposed to capture my life and make me happy? That general understanding and acceptance that you're supposed to get somewhere down the years of childhood into adulthood? I have yet to find some ground for myself. I wake up everyday to the dame shit, the same problems, the same drama that I seem to not be able to break out of. Or better yet maybe I'm just too lazy to actually escape from the problem.

I do not have a terrible life. My life is manageable. I do what i want. I do not have any rules, any real responsibilities. So why am I so unsatisfied with it?

Money isn't an issue, even though I rarely have a lot. I get enormous lump sums of cash at any given time and I don't even know what to do with the money. Women aren't an issue, and the pussy that is between their thighs isn't an issue either. So what IS the issue?

Maybe it’s the perceived lack of progress that I'm making with anything and everything. Maybe it’s because everyone has told me about the potential I have lurking within me that when I don't do something I'm pleased with or any of the sort, I sink into a small state of depression where my bland thoughts about my life sucking erupt like volcanoes in Hawaii.

I know it’s becoming an issue now too: even smoking no longer calms my soul. It merely sustains it.