I'm not happy teaching high school. I'm not happy with what I'm writing. I need to find something else to do. Thinking about the future is hard to do when all you want is to make it how you want it. You run the possibilities through your head, account for all of the variables, figure out how you can make things the way you want them. In the end, though, it never turns out how you imagined it. It will inevitably leave you dissatisfied. Being grateful for what you already have is a good thing to do, but that inherently makes you not try for something better. I want something better. I know what I want, and that's what kills me.
I would love to live in Chicago or somewhere like it. Boston, maybe. Maybe somewhere in Michigan or Wisconsin. Though, thinking about those places and their unbearably cold winters doesn't sound too appealing. I kind of love Florida. The weather here is perfect. Maybe I'll move to Miami. I loved it there. Or maybe I'm just remembering and holding on to my time visiting there last summer. Or maybe I say the word maybe too much. Maybe, just maybe, that's my problem. Perhaps?
Truth: it always was
Oh, and come in here and rub my......ego.