The Season Finalé of Timmy. in The Napkin.

Or, at least, my 30’s. I thought I’d have my shit together by now. Nothing crazy. Stable relationship, offspring, career. This is far removed from any of the external pressures maybe you could have pointed the figure to twenty years ago. The “these aren’t your thoughts, these are someone else’s thoughts.” No, these are simple things I have wanted my whole life.

Having a string of depressive days. Slept a better last night, but I’m back in that “I don’t want to get out of bed” feeling. There’s no reason to get out of bed. I do very little that I genuinely enjoy on a daily basis, if anything. Oh sure, I got to the gym today. Just a few sets to maintain my squat, and left. But it’s more avoiding the shite feeling if I had skipped altogether.

Just passing the time until I’m olde and/or dead. What a waste of a life.