Expectations.

An ironic mustache outlined in beer foam took most of my attention away from the surly art student’s musings, but one idea hit me harder than the sugared down vodka entering my bloodstream. “I have no expectations.  I am only ever pleasantly surprised, if something goes right, or contently unconcerned, if something goes wrong.”  My stomach turned.  My body was rejecting his philosophy almost as quickly as the alcohol.  Apathy has never been present in my wheel of emotions.  My glass is always half full, no matter how much I’ve drank.  My mind is full to the brim with expectations for life.  To say that I could wake up one day and just not care?  Impossible.  I can only speculate that this ideology came from one too many failed conquests.  Even if I am defeated, I want to feel and treasure the defeat.  It makes success that much sweeter.  To feel deeply is the gift and curse of life.

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Expectations.

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