This sunken feeling won't go away. It's made a home under my skin and sometimes tries to crawl out. Most of the time I just feel lost. I'm not sure what to do because I'm not sure what matters anymore. Nothing is particularly significant. Do I go to work today? Nah. It won't matter if I'm there or not. Every customer will still get taken care of, my coworkers expect my absence so they won't miss me, I'm pretty sure my boss is getting annoyed with my distaste for that building (it's almost an allergy at this point), and not going means I can be home, smoking pot, writing this, playing video games, and definitely taking a nap. I won't get kicked out of my apartment today, nor will I tomorrow. It would probably take 2 months of non-payment to really get evicted. I have some time to figure out where to get rent money if I'm not getting it from work. That doesn't really matter anymore either. I could probably move in with my boyfriend if I needed to.I stayed at his house last night. I hadn't seen him in a couple days, so I was anxious to hang out with him. He works a regular full-time job and works on side jobs every night of the week. I do his laundry and light cleaning just to take a couple items off of his “to do” list. He is a wonderful man and I love him.He loves me, but I don't think he knows how to relax and just be in love. He is always working to make things better for us. He wants to buy a house and make a financially secure life for us. I worry that we will always be short on cash and he will never be content with where we are. Being short on cash doesn't bother me. I stopped worrying about money a long time ago. I've had so many money problems in my life that my brain literally can't react to desperation like it used to. If I realize that I won't be able to pay my cell phone bill this month, I just start thinking about something else and take care of it when the money happens to come in. It always works out. It always has. Every time. No exceptions. I'm still here. I'm still fed and clothed and have a place to call my own. I should be homeless for all the crap I've put myself through financially, but I have a lot of nice things. Things a lot of people can't afford. I can't “afford” them either, I've just chosen to buy things instead of spending my money on bills. Stress and depression have separated me from what I'm supposed to be in this society. It's as if I've forgotten how to contribute. I've forgotten how to get excited about being successful. I've changed my very definition of success, but I don't know what that is. Maybe success is just something we make up to feel good. That's fine. Maybe the question shouldn't be “What is my definition of success?” It should be “Why can't I make goals anymore?”