Everyone needs purpose.

So yesterday I might've been miserable, miserable enough to pen something deeply & painful in the Sinatra section of the new piece I'm working on, but I didn't write anything, I waited, I smoked on it, I wallowed for a bit. I talked to my girlfriends, did all the customary work.

I tried it the normal way.

It was interesting, not very affective, made me a little miserable, I woke up feeling dejected but resigned to continue.

Then the morning took a sudden turn, I found myself sitting opposite my god mother, the woman who carved a very great deal of my personality, pouring my heart out as best as I could, as she laughed my pain away with her objective take on my world, then I found myself at the same table participating in an impromptu interview with what may be the best opportunity to come about for my young intelligent & soon to be culturally important self.

As much as getting famous for doing nothing but existing would be lovely, I'm too smart to not have a career & I had started a career before I left for my world trip & now I was back, writing, but without anything concrete to really discipline me.

Because I am still 20. 20 year olds need discipline. A vocation I would enjoy, that makes use of my creative talent & add more contacts into the Career category in my BBM is perfect.

Plus I'd get to dress poshly every day. No matter how chill I am, I love to dress up. There hasn't been enough reason to dress up these past couple of months. Did you read that? MONTHS.

The things I do for my mother. I love that woman.

It's funny though, because yesterday I thought my cure would be love, I had faith in an individual, whoever that might be & I suppose in a way my cure is still love, simply in the sense that my love for myself has been reaffirmed.

We all have our shaky moments. Without purpose I get shaky. Emotionally that is & to be honest all these die hard love birds around me is beginning to take it's toll, it's different when you're surrounded by bullshit cell phone contract relationships, you feel superior, but when continuous examples of desperate & passionate love sprays itself in your face, you begin to feel without.

But fuck THAT shit.

Back on my grind.

The hustle begins.

Why worry about an empty bed if you never sleep?