Sometimes I can’t help but wonder if I’m simply destined to spend the rest of my life paying credit card bills, driving a shitty car, worrying about how much I just spent on a new jacket, and writing nothing other than entries in my journal, forever familiar with the black patches of ink in my fingerprints. As I grow older, the vision that I have for myself constantly diminishes. Perhaps this is just a symptom of maturity, but I also think it speaks highly of the way in which the world asks me to live my life. It’s disturbing when you can recall so clearly those days when you said to yourself, I won’t end up like that, this is my life and I’m going to be smart and make the right decisions. But you won’t make the right decisions. You can’t make the right decisions. There are no right decisions. The human psyche can only take so much dishonesty before it simply gives into those aspects of life that are less than ideal for preservation. Why not put this CD on the credit card? Why not skip class this evening? Why not hurt someone you love? The young people I know are all so tired. There’s something in looking into a twenty year old’s world-weary eyes that is far too brutal for us to understand, but how can we not understand? You can only run so fast and so far before you have to stop to catch your breath. Unfortunately, walking is so much easier. I’ll walk the next mile, you tell yourself, unwilling to accept the fact that you’ve already decided to never run again.