Yesterday I discovered a piece of my house I had never considered before. Where the wall meets the ceiling, yellow paint obscured by gray dust collecting near the vent. I cannot find the time to do the things that may make myself happy and I cannot find time to simply make myself be happy. I throw myself into that corner of the room, letting myself absorb its every detail until it too has just become something I take for granted, something old. I haven't listened to Slanted and Enchanted in years.
If midwest boredom wasn't so beautiful, Missouri would be a crater.