It's not even 11pm but it feels much later.

Doing my best to ignore this Sunday. When I was a kid no one ever had anything to do on Sundays so we'd all stay in the house and end up fighting. My father and my brother were particularly hard to get along with when bored. They'd start fights.
When my brothers left I was alone for two years. I'd just go in my room and listen to music and think- think way too much. My dad had thrown away anything that could hold my interest. I just had to go over shit in my head again and again. I always thought about my life and what I wasn't happy with. That seemed to be the only thing I could think about, it plagued me every Sundays. I couldn't even think of ways to improve, all that I seemed to concentrate on is all the bad things. That went away for many years, I had other things to concern myself with and though I know more people in Chicago since I've moved here than people I knew in Boston when I moved, I can't shake the feeling. Every Sunday I try to avoid it. Most times I fail. It hit me at about nine pm tonight, the same shit; job, friends, mistakes I've made. I did a lot to change that today but until I have I'll keep feeling shitty every Sunday.

Somehow I knew I'd always end up here. In high school and college, when I thought of where I would be in ten years, I imagined myself living alone, going out rarely, knowing few people and spending the brunt of my time sequestered away writing. At the time I figured I'd live somewhere very hot like Florida or Southern Georgia and sweat constantly. Now I'm in a place known for especially harsh winters.
Most everyone is predestined for their life. By the age of fifteen or so it could be fairly accurately predicted by anyone with enough sense. I was never social and preferred to be alone. At the same time my mind was always wandering, thinking of ridiculous fantasies. In class I'd think about what I'd do if I lived a certain way or had the option to do whatever I wanted. My imagination got very elaborate and, with nothing else to amuse me at home, it overwhelmed a lot in my life. I had very vivid dreams, so much so that at times I'd confuse them with reality. I was writing in my head for years, as long as I could remember, and would spend weekends in the college dorm writing pointless things on pads of paper. I hadn't learned how to write yet and looking over some of those pads years later I could hardly believe they were things I'd done.
I knew I'd be here so I shouldn't be surprised or regret it. It's something I wanted.