There's no envy.

On the odd occasion I feel stifled by my own environment. The creation of my own mind and that which has materialized around me.

There are days where I feel as though I could have been born in a different country with out so much as a partial freedom or a pot to piss in. Other days, I envy the fact that I can come and go as I please. The curiousness of what it could have been if I had been born a different person drifts through my mind.

Observing myself, I identify a ritual about how I perform in life and how it hasn't changed for as long as I can remember. In order for me to get myself motivated, I need to listen to music. It substantiates my existence and is so simple yet defining in how I react.

Music drives me forward. Did my mother sing to me when I was a baby?

I guess it could be worse like a dependency on pharmaceuticals or pain. I could ask another question.

In any event, it's the only way I can wake up in the morning and can't imagine life without music and pity the person who is excluded from hearing it.