Sometimes I wonder if the chicken tapestry is on my wall because I legitimately enjoy it or just enjoy the idea of it.
I think thats an adequate enough metaphor for my life.
I wonder is it actually possible to be truly happy? Or even slightly happy? Because what does anybody have to compare to?
And am I selfish and am I selfish to think that I'm selfish?
And does everyone get this abhorrent feeling?
I feel kind of nothing. And thats worse than being sad I think.
Flail |flāl|
verb
1 wave or swing or cause to wave or swing wildly : [ intrans. ] his arms were flailing helplessly | [ trans. ] he flailed his arms and drove her away.
• [ intrans. ] flounder; struggle uselessly : I was flailing about in the water | he flailed around on the snow.
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