the eternal damnation of the human condition

It's the same thing from the time before that. Like the time before that. And the time before that. You have it in your hands. The sweet succulent taste of satisfaction, of victory felt, of time spent and rewarded, of the moment that you had fantasized about so much that you can taste it. But it's never enough, is it. Really. When you all boil it down, achievement is a fucking orgasm. Brief, ecstatic, life-affirming, a respite from the minutiae of everyday life. Then just like that, it's over and done with and you're on to the next one. I get it you know. I understand that if we were every truly satisfied, boredom would set in and the anxiety and unsettling feeling would creep in. Dissatisfaction motivates us, keeps us going, striving, nothing is ever enough or better. We are eternally Sisyphus- pushing up whatever boulder rests upon our shoulders only for it to roll down and we begin our toil once again. My parents bought their house in 1988. They've remolded one aspect of it at least every couple of years. A counter here, a garden there, nothing is ever...right. Finally when everything is...there- that room just right, the side table works just so, they decide that they want to sell the house and start again. But why must this be so? Why can't things just...be. When will we realize that the greenest of the grass is on both sides of the hill?