Soma.

I'm starting to go stir crazy here in Southern California. The lack of walking and high calorie consumption have made me feel quite sloth-like, and today I freaked out and started to cry. I want to go home to New York. This sucks. I love my family dearly, but I can only take so much sitting in front of the flat screen watching football before I start to crave the crisp sensation of an ice cold metal shotgun barrel in my mouth. I hate suburbia. I hate that we have to take the car to pick up the mail instead of walking (god forbid). I hate the way everyone here seems able to be happy just shopping for shitty groceries and getting up to work dead end clockwatcher jobs so they can afford soccer uniforms and yearbooks for their awful stupid spoiled kids who will, in turn, get knocked up and then perpetuate the same cycle of putting cutesy vinyl decals in the rear windows of their fucking minivans such as two big pairs of flip flops for the parents and little pink & blue ones for their kids. And of course we can't forget the requisite jesus-fish sticker. What a load of crap.

Lately I think maybe I'm just jealous because I wish I was that stupid, to want only that for my life and to just be OK with it. To be OK with marrying someone because they're there and it's better than being alone, to just accept religion because everyone else does, to be OK being a fucking sheep whose life is dictated by primetime televison and Turducken and whatever celebrity disease is hip, doing whatever Oprah or the mall or Family Circle Magazine tells you. They all seem to be pretty fucking happy, even if they aren't too far removed from zombies to me. Now who's the stupid one?

(image courtesy of the fantastic PostSecret.com. Buy the book.)