time seems quite frustratingly non-evisceral these days...
i consider it frequently. not a day goes by when i don't consider what the next ten years of my life will be like. i can see the lines in my room. i know that one day all the songs i listen to on repeat will make me nostalgic, and one day i will miss the dusty, 60s america that has always existed in my dusty, sunny bedroom where the lights are never on and the bed is always soft.
i notice my self fluctuating quite often, which has never been unusual, but it seems more profound. i am different conditions, in the same displeasing body: sarcastic and vulgar, or priestly and troubled.
this is not a problem.
i think more about my future than i ever do my present or past. one day i will wake up and feel, suddenly–i am not a child. i can already feel that feeling rousing. this is the first year where i have that running youth tacked onto the end of my title.
when i wake up in ten years, will i be in love? will i love my body? am i going to be the tattoo artist covered in art and happiness that i want to see so badly? or will i have a respectably job, a respectable job, a clean body and a sweet smile? the latter makes me feel at unease, to be sure.
i suppose there is nothing to figure out. i am not bound to future decisions. i am only bound to the decision i will make for myself soon.