Every day as I walk the four miles to work, I can't help but think of what I am, where I've been, and what do I want to do. Has my life really grown so dull that the only company I have is my own thoughts and regrets? I've done a lot of shitty things, never to anyone but to myself. I've made mistakes as anyone does but for some reason I can't help but think of my mistakes as grave. When I turned 18 I wanted to get out of the comfort zone of the town and area I grew up in. Without regard to the people I was leaving behind I fled, yes, fled, to Chicago. I was comfortable, I met several people I'd risk it all for, but six months later I fled again to Philadelphia. Four years and 76 grand in debt later, what do I have to show for it besides burnt bridges and broken promises? I spend my days like any other working stiff just trying to make ends meet, no degree, and increasingly it seems no future. Don't get me wrong, those who I have met and befriended along this path I would never want to forget. This is why it's hard for me, my experiences and the solid people I have met are what keep me from totally regretting my course of actions, but I can't help to think "what if?" What if I stayed in Chicago, what if I didn't even leave for Chicago, what if I didn't drop out of school, and what if I actually took some goddamn initiative and got myself out of this shithole I've dug? That's the real tragedy here, I probably have every opportunity to claw through the sewage and help myself but I increasingly find that there are more blocks along the way. Perhaps this is why I left home and Chicago? I thought things were coming to a dead end and decided to flee, or maybe my mom is right in saying there is a reason for everything. Such is life I suppose, but it's hard to say that when I continuously feel that mine hasn't even started yet.
"Who is the bigger fool? The fool or the fool that follows him?"
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