I want to live in a sort of old house with one or two other chill people who eat my food and use my shampoo and let me borrow their shoes and use their body wash.
We'll all usually make rent despite our minimum-wage work, because hey, the place is sorta dumpy and cheap. We won't mind.
We'll like to go out a lot anyway. None of us will be good at sitting still.
And we'll have a goldfish.
I want to ride a hand-me-down bike to a dead-end supermarket job, where disheveled, sleep-deprived moms ram into me with their shopping carts and I smile at them anyway, because I know I'll never be like them.
(No offense, disheveled, sleep-deprived moms, it's a noble job you've got; I know I'm not cut out for it.)
I want to get slightly less bad and more mediocre at the guitar so I can go sit and strum in the park and pretend I'm cool; and I will be cool, man, because I finally won't care what anyone else thinks.
And I'll litter my sentences with words like that--"dude, man, bro"-- and I'll just laugh at that boy who thinks that makes me sound like I'm high.
(He doesn't get it. He'll never get it.)
We'll be kids! We might not be innocent, but we'll be kids. We won't care about the way we look, we won't care about curfew, we won't care if people see us cry.
We won't fall in love, we'll just love.
I won't tie myself to people in order to feel like I mean something.
I'll have friends who actually like me, even when I'm not around to remind them, and they'll stop by without asking; even if I'm not home, they'll know which garden gnome I keep a spare key under, and they'll just barge in and eat my food.
... And maybe some of my roommates' food too.
But none of us mind. We're poor and we like to share. It only tastes good if you're not greedy about it.
We'll sit and talk nonsense like it's deep. "Have you ever noticed that everything means nothing...?" "Yah, bro, when I was like, thirteen." "Oh. Well... Think about it. Everything means nothing." "We gotta make it mean something, dumbass. That's all there is to it."
We'll be big hypocrites, berating humanity, but loving our part in it.
We'll eat meat and act like vegetarians. We'll plant trees but tear down branches for stupid things like swordfights. We'll call each other siblings and cuddle like lovers and mean nothing by it.
When our goldfish dies, we'll invite the neighbor kids to the funeral procession. I'll cut my hair off by myself; yknow, in mourning. I'll do a real hack job of it, too.
...
I want to be happy. Like, happy for more than a day.
Let's start now.
I ought to stop chasing people who are moving on. Stop giving a crap. Stop worrying.
It's funny how people define success with money and fame and spouses. Once you're dead, that's all gone. The CEO's end up no different than the hippies. If it's all the same someday, I think I'd rather be a hippie. I don't like money or fame or spouses anyway.
I hope you find happy, as well, whatever your success may be.
