I sit up nights and read books that are supposed to help me find out what I'm doing wrong. They all talk about grasping life by the balls and declaring loudly what it is I want and enjoying every thrilling moment of life because its an exiting time to be alive.
Which I have to say certainly isn't the case :/ I really don't have a dream...at best I have passing fancies. For about 10 minutes today I thought it would be a good idea to be the driver of the retard van for some happy horseshit day program. But I know 15 minutes in it'd be like any other job, and they'd start shitting themselves, or god knows what else to bring me smashing back to reality.
Still, thats the closest I have to a dream, other than being able to hide in my house forever with my cats, which I'm begning to suspect makes me just a *little* bit crazy.
In 7 years or so, I'll be handed a lump of cash (if i manage to not whiddle it down to nothing, being unable to function like I am) and with it, if I played my cards right I could buy a business or set of apartment buildings...something that would generate passive income, which is what I logically understand is the way to get ahead and have some money in life and not end up dependent on some half assed crop of bitter berries.
And that brings us to my mother....but oh my mother...she's such a liability. I don't know what to do with myself, but I know even less about what to do with her. Money runs through her like a sieve. I want desperatly to help her do something productive before she destroys us both, but I have no fucking idea about what is actally right to do, and I love her, but all she *is* is dreams, silly dreams of selling enough jellies and handicrafts to afford her life, even though she barely covers the cost of materials and gas...
I've rambled on too much about it for one night though. I need to go watch bad late night TV and wish the world away before I let myself get any more carried away.
