Constantly, it would seem.
We’ve always been poor, though there have been short periods of time when one of us had substantially more than usual.
Then it became a mountain hut with the added luxury of a boat. We’d be fine with even a dinky little rowboat. You know, chillin’ on the Mediterranean and all that jazz.
And to increase the necessity of owning a boat, we dreamed of an island. Preferably a mountainous island, of course (although, all islands are basically underwater mountains anyway). So we started thinking and we hit upon Hawaii, but we quickly realized Japan suited us much better.
Interjection: A craving just hit me. How bizarre. I want lechon baboy. Hoy, where is the nearest Filipino eatery?
We dream big. Someone still has to do it.
So it goes.
All day this has been in the back of my mind: I wonder at my motivations in life.
I am always ranting about my lack of having something to believe in, but there are reasons I do what I do, when I do.
Another interjection: I haven’t played Oblivion all day. Gah.
My motivations are a tad unsavory. I am not a wholesome person, and in actuality I try a smidgen too hard to embrace my inherent sordid and squalid tendencies. Overt maliciousness doesn’t suit me, but it’s come to the point that I rarely do anything without a hidden agenda.
Truly, my impulses are base and thoroughly unimaginative. I am just damn good at masking them.
The realist in me recognizes the truth that emotions are primitive; our potential power over them is the only trait that sets us apart from the smartest animals.
Screw it. It’s time for ice cream.