I think about dying but I dont want to die. Not even close. In fact my problem is the complete opposite. I want to live, I want to escape. I feel trapped and bored and claustrophobic. There’s so much to see and so much to do but I somehow still find myself doing nothing at all. I’m still here in this metaphorical bubble of existence and I can’t quite figure out what the hell I’m doing or how to get out of it.
I need to have as much wild sex as possible so one day I can become an inappropriate old lady that blurts out things like “when I was your age I got a concussion after being bent over a desk” and then my family can be like “grandma please, you’re making easter dinner really uncomfortable” and it’ll be great