How did I get here? When did my days consist of me crunching numbers, making calls, searching for “properties”? They aren’t even houses and homes anymore. Because all I see are dollar signs. Positive and negative. To call it a house or a home is to suggest that I see sentimental value and I don’t. I see my next paycheck.
I was going to travel. I was going to write stories. Become worldly. Take up new hobbies and interests everyday. Now… now my best moment is going to bed. Not dealing with anyone. But I don’t remember my dreams. I'm not even sure that I do dream. I used to be spiritual; insightful even… I’m still insightful. I the sense that I can see when you are lying to me. I can tell when you are going to bust a deal or trying to scam me, or screw me over. Yeah, I’m insightful..
Where is my writing skills? All my stories, gone. Now I can whip you up a contract before my next showing. I can tantalize you into buying with an email or an ad. But my heroes, and love stories have been lost. This is the first personal thing I have written in years.. YEARS.. And I don’t even consider it personal. It’s factual.
I’ve changed, to keep my head, no, my family’s head, above the water. And with that, I let Me drown. This need to survive, weighs us down and brings us under. But if you were to let go, you still drown. It’s a sick, twisted joke. No matter what, I will always lose myself…
So! Are you ready to buy a house?