This rule of the broken heart

My life is succumbed to this: born, work, get fucked up and die. Though, I found this life through trivial means, it still makes me wonder how to get excited about any future endeavors. I finished a great high concept comedy with a writing partner that I don't know and I'm content with the effort. Normally, I would revel in this wonderful small feat that most of us only dream of but I'm stopped short. Stuck by the mundane details of mediocrity and still scared of the what the fuck happened syndrome. What the fuck happened syndrome? What is that do you wonder? Well, it's the eternal dream that encompasses what your heart felt as you took a journey to better yourself and ended up finding something less then stellar. In my pursuits for eternal greatness, I 'm not seeking anything less then redemption. I'm seeking something everyone wants to know, themselves. Through each re write that rears his ugly head, it's like an ex looking for a quick lay to forget the ex he never loved to begin with, I struggle. I gallivant with the masses. I drink for the ones that died, I drink for the ones that are better off then I'll ever be and I'm stuck. I am trapped in a mediocre job that doesn't know my talents or care to, an environment that I feel I'm maneuvering my way to the middle is unsettling at best. Yet, I have an eternal hope that one day, when I wake up in a house I own, that I can make a breakfast with comfort. I wake up today as I do every day, I stand on my gorgeous view of Los Angeles and thank who ever is out there that I am alive. That I have my faculties and a family missing me only too far away and I have the ability to change my course. It's coming, I feel the heat on my back. It's unlike monkey. I have enough of those burdens that I am trying to hinder. I am feeding the good dog. Who is the good dog you ask? Ask me when you're ready. I'd love to let you know.