Happiness is a road less traveled.

March 7, 2015

Writing.

Writing.

Writing.
Words keeping me partially sane.
Letters making words making sentences making this page full of black lines and squiggles. The one thing I can control, the words I write here.

Do you ever have those days where you feel like the only person in the world who isn’t happy? I’ll attempt to paint you a picture of my “life”.

Try adding 364 days of unhappiness to that,give or take for leap years and such.

Then multiply those days by 22 years. (Soon to be 23 years, unless I can manage to get this “Happiness” thing under my control by then. )

Oh, Happiness. *Insert Dreamy Voice Here*

I’m not saying I’ve had a cloud of despair over my head my entire life. I’ve been happy before. I have the memories when I seemed happy. They feel a lot like the vague, lingering dreams you can’t quite remember after you wake.

Don’t say it. Don’t tell me. I know, I know.

Well, the problem is, I just got a car and I have no i-freaking-dea which road is the “road of happiness”.
I can’t follow directions to save my life and I keep hitting road blocks regardless.

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