Overhearing a phone conversation the other day between my mum and my aunt, they were discussing my aunt's current bad luck, and the fact that incidents like that 'always happen in threes. It got me thinking about my current affluence in 'luck' or if I dare to say it, my lack of 'bad luck'. There are 230945094 reasons why I hate my job, and my financial situation is anything but to be desired, but beyond the odd film evoking emotion in me or my short temper rearing its ugly head, I'm happy.
My failure to be understood is my biggest problem. I've got this ostentatious chip on my shoulder about girls outing each other, and physical appearance being so socially predominant. I'll always be hindered by a frustration of wanting the rest of the World to see these things the way I do, it's hard not to become consumed with how cruel and shit the world is. I'm in a constant personal tug of war between being a fantasist and a realist. I'm both the world's scorned enemy and jealous lover. If all the real 'emo' music in the world doesn't take me through this summer then I'll feel it has been thoroughly wasted. Mineral and Elliott have made me impassioned, exonerated and harbouring a reckless determination to live life full of lust.
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