Reality has a twisted way of bringing you down to size, reducing you from lofty, ambitious dreamer to one who sulks in the recesses of his own self-contained mind. It isn't a very good feeling, and it's certainly one that you hope to get rid of soon enough.
It's like being on standby for the next flight after missing the one you thought you were supposed to be on. Anxiously brooding over whether there will be a vacant seat to take soon.
You fidget in the uncomfortable seat withhin the cold, faceless terminal building. What you feel can be described as being emotionally constipated. You hate having to be stuck in an environment that thousands of people pass through everyday but never remain longer than they have to in order to get to the next destination. It makes you feel left behind somehow.
The smug look of the passer-by heading off to their next sunny locale elicits an uneasy emotion of envy and ill will. "It's not their fault you're stuck where you are", you try to remind yourself.
The sooner you get on the next plane, the better. You crave for relief from the ennuity, and the simmering sense of general negativity underneath that threatens to encompass you if you don't get a move on.
Even if it might involve multiple stopovers to get to your final destination, hell even if it involves jumping out the plane midway to switch flights, you don't care!
There is only so much the human spirit can take, whether it might have been self-inflicted or by the circumstances that have befallen oneself.
I need a ticket. Fast.
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