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I'm so disillusioned

I know what I should be doing. What I'm not doing. Of the teetering pile of faceless obligations, the assignments and reports, the time needed to succeed, this does not belong. I'm stretched thin, covering too many bases half heartedly with the fear of failure instead of from a love of success. I told myself, mindlessly, that I could do this. I tell myself, emotionless, that I can do this. It's not a matter of wanting and not wanting, but of can and cannot. Life does not revolve around silly wants, of dreams and fairy tales. No life is wound with filaments of rigid to do lists. A checklist bored into our eyes and seared into our very mind frames. So much so that we put up with it. Day in and day out, on the hope and the belief that there will be solace at the end of this ride. But this is not a road to a new destination. This is an elevator, going down down down. Just pushing you farther into that cold cold ground, and with each meter you pass the chance of getting back up decreases, the whole picture broken into pieces, that you can't keep. maybe you'll grasp to a corner, only a shadow, a faint idea of that life you had before, the carefree child like life of yours. Do you remember? We blow it off as nothing. Of course a child's life needs to be happy, they need to have an imagination and live in their own fantasies. But that's not what the real world is like. We can't expose them to the harsh world outside their mind's eye too soon! But why are we exposed to it? Why does age make a difference? It's a stupid question. No way around it. But I'm always left longing for peaceful abandon. And I'll continue to long, for as long as I live.

I don't want to do what I need to do, I need to do what I want to do.

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