What the fuck am I doing here?

This is a question I ask myself regularly, as I look at my beautiful and abundantly full surroundings in disgust.

It seems as though being unsatisfied is part of being human and as the incredibly loopy and intellectually transcendental Terence McKenna once said (verbatim) “the key to happiness is novelty.”

To me it seems the key to happiness is realising that there is no lock; from what I understand you’re supposed to get out of your own way, stop being a miserable whiny prick and get on with life… easier said than done (big shock there).

The more you think about things the more unhappy you become.

So I followed my gut instincts (intuition, inner guidance, faith) and somehow ended up being in quarantine in a tiny, dust-covered shack in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere.

What the fuck am I doing here?