Basically nothing is worse than having to hear about someone's dream, but see this one was more like a vision. I was shopping at a vintage store, trying on all these amazing dresses, except none of them fit me right. Dress after dress after dress; no luck. But then I found this one that fit like a glove. I was so excited! I'd found the perfect dress!
But then I had to look closer, because I saw there was something embroidered on the front of it. I squinted my eyes to get a better look, and saw that it was the word "poo."
Yes. "Poo." Embroidered in dainty cursive on my imaginary dress.
And the thing is it's such a metaphor because I work so hard to do the right things and achieve all the stuff and then when life starts going well, my eye catches sight of the poo. I hate that I do it and yet can't help thinking at this point that maybe I like to do it? Do I like to see the poo?
I am starting to wonder whether I thrive on discontent. Or whether I simply don't know how to live without it. I guess I just feel like if you're content, what's the point? There's no story without conflict.
And so I go on, embroidering poo on my imaginary dresses. Woe is she.