Looking at That Horizon

  My vices are the only things I have left, and with no job and no money even they are drifting beyond my reach. I feel like something's got to give soon or I'm going to fucking snap. More and more often it seems like maybe I just need to hit the road, like that's what I'm supposed to do.

 Maybe I should just pack my bag and start walking in whichever direction my feet decide to move first. I've got really nothing left to lose except my life, if you could choose to call it that.

 I mean really, I'm stealing my food and doing returns at Wal-Mart to buy my cigarettes as it is. The only added hardship I can think of would be sleeping outside, and with summer approaching a stolen tent would be adequate enough shelter.

 I don't know what keeps holding me back. Perhaps fear? But fear of what? Maybe I'm afraid I'll find whatever it is I'm looking for out there, and will no longer have any need for adventure. Maybe it's like my old probation officer once sais to me "Ditch, you're afraid of succeeding."
 
 I'm still not exactly sure what the fuck she meant by that, but looking at the horizon, dreaming about crossing that state line, I feel more at peace than at any other time.