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blustocking...for the moment.
I knew my journal would get me in trouble. Not too much, but it could get worse if I don't watch it.
I complain about people too much. Must....learn...to...click...."private".
I should check out this "Memories" section. I think I could write some better stuff in that area. This day to day business is just not cutting it. It used to, when my life was exciting, but not now.
I think I need to suffer.
I crave chaos. Chaos to sort out, make sense of. I need to use my brain. I've not been challenged, not academically, but emotionally/intellectually.
This is why I seem so whiny, to myself and I'm sure, to others. I have nothing to really complain about. Sure, I'm not as wealthy and problem-free as I would like, but who is? I read other people's journals and see their trouble and I realize how dull I am. Why am I bitching about losing my confidence and the dumb things I have to do. This is a journal, not a grocery list. When I was making $800.00 a month, living in a $500.00 apartment, just me and the cat after having left a 5 year relationship. When I was driving away in the U-haul, trying to leave before he even got home and found I was gone. When I was living in Los Angeles after having lived in Kansas all my life, on my own, working a crap job, poor, and constantly plagued with car/money/job trouble, I was happier. Life was life then, it was real. It was not peachy, it was a struggle.
I don't have to eat ramen and trips to the grocery store aren't nerve-wracking because I can spend more than $20.00. Sure, people had it worse than me, I know that. But it was my struggle, my constant battle to stay afloat. I've lost that and part of me misses the adventure of being poor.
Of course, I wouldn't go back. I wouldn't go back to the asshole landlord, the asshole boyfriend, my hole-in-the-wall apartment. At least, I don't think I would. But I want that back.
I want to feel the NEED to write again. I want to go back to the times where I HAD to carry a sketchbook/notebook with me at all times, because you never know when the release will become necessary, when the dam will break. I thought it was so trying, so tiring at the time, but now I see that I need it. I can't sit down and force myself to write at this time because all that comes out is trivial dribble, just like this.
At least I'm realizing what I'm missing, what the problem is.
It's also a reluctance to sound angsty or whiny (again with that word, I know). I look back at what I used to write, and although I was a little angsty then, it sounded good. I've lost my voice. I'm afraid of sounding stupid. I could never write now what I wrote then. Out of practice. The same rings true for my art. All the stored ideas, the half-finished projects seem silly to me now. I think of them and I roll my eyes. But then I see someone else getting praised for doing something similar. Maybe I'm standing in the way of myself eh?
*shudder* Someone just touched my head. :) So sensitive there, why is that? Play with my hair and I'm like putty, really.
I hope this is a wake-up call.
I hope I don't fall back asleep.
(SEE! That sounds immensely dumb to me right now! Ugh, I'm trying too hard. It's the truth, but it sounds too dramatic for my tastes. Oooo, I coulda typed, "And I hope I don't hit snooze"! HA! *sigh* At least I amuse myself. ;)
70% how you look, 20% how you sound, and 10% what you say.
I knew my journal would get me in trouble. Not too much, but it could get worse if I don't watch it.
I complain about people too much. Must....learn...to...click...."private".
I should check out this "Memories" section. I think I could write some better stuff in that area. This day to day business is just not cutting it. It used to, when my life was exciting, but not now.
I think I need to suffer.
I crave chaos. Chaos to sort out, make sense of. I need to use my brain. I've not been challenged, not academically, but emotionally/intellectually.
This is why I seem so whiny, to myself and I'm sure, to others. I have nothing to really complain about. Sure, I'm not as wealthy and problem-free as I would like, but who is? I read other people's journals and see their trouble and I realize how dull I am. Why am I bitching about losing my confidence and the dumb things I have to do. This is a journal, not a grocery list. When I was making $800.00 a month, living in a $500.00 apartment, just me and the cat after having left a 5 year relationship. When I was driving away in the U-haul, trying to leave before he even got home and found I was gone. When I was living in Los Angeles after having lived in Kansas all my life, on my own, working a crap job, poor, and constantly plagued with car/money/job trouble, I was happier. Life was life then, it was real. It was not peachy, it was a struggle.
I don't have to eat ramen and trips to the grocery store aren't nerve-wracking because I can spend more than $20.00. Sure, people had it worse than me, I know that. But it was my struggle, my constant battle to stay afloat. I've lost that and part of me misses the adventure of being poor.
Of course, I wouldn't go back. I wouldn't go back to the asshole landlord, the asshole boyfriend, my hole-in-the-wall apartment. At least, I don't think I would. But I want that back.
I want to feel the NEED to write again. I want to go back to the times where I HAD to carry a sketchbook/notebook with me at all times, because you never know when the release will become necessary, when the dam will break. I thought it was so trying, so tiring at the time, but now I see that I need it. I can't sit down and force myself to write at this time because all that comes out is trivial dribble, just like this.
At least I'm realizing what I'm missing, what the problem is.
It's also a reluctance to sound angsty or whiny (again with that word, I know). I look back at what I used to write, and although I was a little angsty then, it sounded good. I've lost my voice. I'm afraid of sounding stupid. I could never write now what I wrote then. Out of practice. The same rings true for my art. All the stored ideas, the half-finished projects seem silly to me now. I think of them and I roll my eyes. But then I see someone else getting praised for doing something similar. Maybe I'm standing in the way of myself eh?
*shudder* Someone just touched my head. :) So sensitive there, why is that? Play with my hair and I'm like putty, really.
I hope this is a wake-up call.
I hope I don't fall back asleep.
(SEE! That sounds immensely dumb to me right now! Ugh, I'm trying too hard. It's the truth, but it sounds too dramatic for my tastes. Oooo, I coulda typed, "And I hope I don't hit snooze"! HA! *sigh* At least I amuse myself. ;)
70% how you look, 20% how you sound, and 10% what you say.
