The strings on my tea bags keep breaking mid-steep.

Is this an omen of some sort?

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I’ve made a horrible mistake.

Sometimes I think that I didn’t pursue the ideals in my head when I had the opportunity because I thought they wouldn’t be understood. I was a pretty smart kid, I guess. People say that, but I hate hearing it. When I graduated I was off to a great college. I could have done great things, too. Everyone I talked to told me I had the opportunity to do so. My test scores were high. My GPA was high enough. But I never cared. I feel like throughout my life I just observed. 

So I made choices, and I tried to survive. I’ve realized several times that I feel survival is pointless. Survival is just the goal of living until you can’t live any more. Regardless of whether we choose to survive or not, all we effectively have done until the day we die is survived.

So I survived until today, and I’ll survive a bit more, I guess, despite my intentions a few times alone the line. And my thoughts have evolved a time or two, though that hasn’t made me feel any more connected to the rest of people.

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