I’m procrastinating with work and I have some ambient noise on to try and drown out the noises from living in a city. Not from talking people walking by, kids, or barking dogs. But cars. So many cars are driving by. And it’s normal, I know. I live in a city, what did I expect? 

But I hate that there’s always a car blocking my view from the trees and the water. 

And the duality of a good time

I know we were able to survive this. I know I made it so that we never would. I couldn’t give you the space you asked for, you couldn’t hold me the way I needed you to.

And if that means I have to forego any ethical or societal responsibility, so be it.

I should make it a routine. No, a habit. No, a hobby that makes me money.

I have to travel about 90 minutes to the office with public transport, if there are no delays. It’s often at least two hours before I actually get there. 

It’s a big chunky car, black. Forgive me for not knowing the brand. It looks like one of the range rovers. I bet it’s pretty expensive. I couldn’t see who was sitting in the driver’s seat, but from my window I saw an old man. He reminded me of someone I knew a couple years ago.

There’s not a lot of months that people seem to unanimously hate. Some see themselves as a summer girly, others love the autumn and then there are those who live for the winter. But no matter how much you love wind, snow and cold weather, it seems that every winter person loathes January. 

Christmas has come and gone again this year. I love the whole shebang. The traditions, the family stuff, the food. Coming together with family, playing boardgames and eating at big tables.

When we were young, it was a very common question. “What do you want to be when you grow up?” I always used to say I wanted to be “happy”. It was the only thing I knew for certain I wanted.

It’s bush-city around here.

Today it’s my birthday. I’m not doing an elaborate celebration. Coffee with my grandparents and afternoon tea with my mom. And a sneaky little dinner with my partner. I don’t know where we’re going yet.

I’d love to be a witch when I grow up. The supernatural realm of wicca has always spoken to me. To know plants, spells and live in tune with nature. Unfortunately, I’m already quite grown and have no witchy knowledge whatsoever.

About 3 years ago I got together with my boyfriend. He has a daughter from a previous relationship. I knew the responsibility I would carry if I’d get into a relationship with him beforehand and mentally prepared myself. At least I thought I did.

Spoiler: it hasn’t worked yet.

I love being on substack. It’s amazing to see so many people write about themselves and their lives.

I haven’t been writing a whole lot the last couple of weeks. I temporarily lost my motivation, my reason to write. 

What if I don’t feel called to a profession or an occupation? Right now I work 32 hours a week, not even fulltime. And I already have too little time for my interests and aspirations. It’s only been two years since I’ve officially entered the workforce, but I’m already questioning my existence as an adult in this society. 

I used to think I hated routines. They never worked for me. In my living-very-healthy-phase when I still lived with my mom and had no real responsibilities I made a morning routine that I rigorously kept to. Everyday I was exhausted before the day even began.

I used to feel so sad thinking about the state of the world. People chasing more and more money, never being satisfied. Every good initiative slowly turned into a superficial business. Where profit always has to continually grow each year for it to be considered ‘successful’.