It seems like my posts are going to be about waiting. The thing I am most terrible at.
Today I helped a friend move. And by move I mean; I stayed out of the way and did what I was told. This friend; she's a lucky girl. Living with her love, in an apartment with her stuff living her life. I'm still waiting for the day I can call my things mine.
I'm always waiting; because I am probably the most impatient person you will ever meet. I have an issue with slowing down and everything has to be right here right now. Its a terrible problem that I'm very slowly trying to fix. Blogging will be my only way of impatiently waiting; I can talk about what I'm so impatient about.
One more year. Just one more year. This is why I a jealous of this lucky girl. I want a nice place so my family can visit. To know I'm doing okay. I want to live with a nice guy and come home to someone smiling at me and ask me how my day was, have dinner, and then watch Netflix and be dorky. He will ask me if I've written anything lately or ask me about my current work and I'll tell him my ideas, and listen to his day at work and whats bugging him. I'll listen to him for hours and we'll joke around. Tell each other we love each other.
I know I'm not the only one who thinks this. Everyone has their own little thoughts of the future. And if you don't you just don't know where you are at this moment in time; and thats okay. For me; I want to be there. I'm not saying I'm not happy- I'm just tired of waiting for that dream. I'm chasing it. I want to be a writer. I want to be in an apartment. I want my own time. I want something to call my own. I want my own life. Instead of being controlled. I want some control for once.
Control. That word almost sounds scary. We can control our actions and words. But for me, I feel like I can't say or do anything without someone hanging on my shoulder telling me I'm wrong or a fuck up. Or someone to tell me I'm nothing.
I'm NOT nothing. I'm something. I belong somewhere; just not here currently. I belong out in the world; I have a huge wanderlust I really cannot control. My words and my ideas belong somewhere better than my head. They belong in the hands of hungry minds. The belong in front of the eyes of creative spirits. They belong somewhere because their not nothing. I'm not nothing. I'm something like my words; and I belongs somewhere.
But question is:
Where do I belong? I know out there, but where exactly. I can only hope its in the exact place I'm shooting for.
I was once told never to get my hope high. Why not? Why can't I hope for what I want to get. Yeah, I'll fall, but that means I'll just to get back up twice as fast with swinging hands.
Maybe I'm seeing my worlds in drunken lenses. If that's so; I don't really care. At least I'm optimistic. That counts for something.
Maybe this babble means nothing.
But I'm not.