Odd Feelings

My life flipped out on me.

Ever since my classes have started, my life decided to flip on me. No longer am I chasing after a dream of writing and boy who cannot make up his mind. I'm now chasing my self in a life that makes literally no sense. I'm sitting and dwelling on this overwhelming feeling I've recently obtained. A feeling a young girl like me shouldn't have. A panicky feeling of terrible feelings and nasty senses. Its disgusting. I'm a switch. I'm on and off; bright and dark. Over and over and over and over again. They say if you're not up and down; you're dead. But if we're strictly speaking about heart beats; mine is spiking unnaturally and I'm not breathing. And I hate it.I'm looking at my life right now because It changes every second and I'm trying to track where I went wrong and how can I predict my next move. And in doing that I'm forgetting to look around. I'm quickly learning that life is a full time job; no wonder I was so suicidal when I was younger. And what really sucks; now that I've gotten older I care too much- so I'm stuck here. And I'm a whiner bitch than I ever was. But that's what this blog is for; To be a whiny bitch and not care because I hate Facebook and tumblr and twitter or whatever is so popular to whine on at this moment. So I'm stuck. I guess I've always been stuck. Like in the dark and waiting for anything to happen and when nothing happens I go and do it for myself and then I mess everything up. So what can I do; If I wait like a princess I'll never get anywhere. If I go out like Pocahontas, I screw everything up for myself because I'm destructive. Life is so annoying to me. But possibly; I'm the annoying one to life. Self destruct is a word that sounds like its summing up my life. I'm self destructing and things are going haywire and I'm sweating under the pressure. But hey, that's life. So why am I bitching? 

 Because if I didn't- Who knows what I'd do.

My path of life has been completely flipped upside down and inside out. I'm now working three jobs, and every time I try to work those jobs something happens almost giving me the inability to do those jobs. My life is pissing me off. 

This overwhelming feeling, feels dark. And I don't like it. I guess this is called growing up; if that's true- I want to be five again. Please let me be five again. Please.

Patiently Being Impatient

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?

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. 

xo

Sitting and Waiting

What the hell am I doing...

That is a good question. A question I really do not understand. What am I doing? Am I actually being productive? Am I making a statement? Am I living? Am I breathing? Is that blood actually pumping through my veins or is lead?

Sometimes I wish I was a robot. I'd be free of all emotion and feeling. I wouldn't have to be so stupid and actually do something right. To be a machine; free from making a mistake because I was built to do something. I want to be the good machine. Get through high school, go to a phenomenal college, get a wonderful writing job and be a world wide known writer and leave a mark.

I guess if I was actually a robot I would be not the best writer; wouldn't be original because my mind would be a man-made-machine. My writing wouldn't get very far. I'd eventually become broke and alone. I guess I wouldn't care much though; I'd be a robot with no emotions; no feelings; no need for human compassion to create a better life in a cold metallic heart.

Why am I rambling about robots and writing? I'm trying to figure myself out. With summer coming to a close and my procrastinator mind racing to get things done before September, its leaving me in a panic. Not an a panic that breaks a sweat, more like a panic that leaves me sitting here, tapping at the IKEA table and trying to contemplate my next move. If I was a robot I'd be collected and have a million different ideas, and come up with three possible moves and am able to pick one with ease. That sounds wonderful but I keep thinking of the consequences of being a robot. With that, the consequences of being a human arrive as well in my tiny pathetic mind. 

I'm a damn senior... I shouldn't be freaking out this much. I made it this far and I still have so much to do. So why am I so anxious to get it all done?

I guess this could be because... 

I'm a young draft in process being watched over by my older self. And I'm so anxious to get done and perfected to be that older self who is writing it, I'm forgetting about quality. I want to be read, but I'm just not ready yet. I want to be typed and on a clean sheet of computer paper ready to be looked at. I'm still on that notebook paper in that messenger bag sitting on a table in a coffee shop or on the floor in a library. I'm still wedged next to 3 different novels and a biography, a bag of pencils, and a cheap thrift store portable coffee mug that has left over morning coffee. That is who I am. And I'm wanting to be perfected with sheer human quality and read across cities, states, nations, continents. I'm sitting and waiting. 

But I guess that's what we all do. We sit anxiously and wait for that one day when we're the story we want to be. Some of us are still waiting; some are already there; some are just beginning. 

I'm still waiting. So I guess I better make my time quality.