Saturday, January 2, 2016

Per fucking spective

I watched a movie called what if. And it was the most perfect movie about your early 20s that I've ever seen. So optimistic and fucking full of promise. 

The characters are too smart for their own good. The fall in love. Have these huge brains and get flung across the globe. While trying to figure out their hearts. 

This movie made me want to have kids. If my kids could evolve to have these perfect heartbreaks with such witty and caring asshole friends, I would do it in a second. 

Also made me realize that I'm not in Tokyo. Or Dublin. I'm in Arizona. 

And these kids are swimming in the ocean and bearing their souls. 

And what am I doing?

Hiding. 

And doing my job. 

Well. 

On both counts. 

So what if I fuck it. 

Fuck. It. 

And fucking jump. 

Out of that plane. 

Out of the apartment. 

Plant my feet. 

Jump. 

Leap. 

Climb. 

Roll. 

Dive and fucking swing. 

And fucking swing. 

Because if I'm reliving my 20s, then I already have some years on me. What would you do if you could go back and do it all over again?

Of course. 

(of course)

These last few days. Week. After being home for Christmas were hard. Some of the hardest. What am I doing here. Disappointed. The whole nine. 

Did I just snap out of it?

And how log will it last?

Jump. 

Look how far you've flown. 

Fly. 

Flew. 

Go. 














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