I always wanted to have a blog. Probably because it’s easier and less painstaking than writing in a journal which I love to do. Eventually my hand starts to hurt because honestly I’ve got so much to write about and so little time. Regardless of how much time I’ve got, I really have like no time to actually do what I love. For the past few days I’ve been smiling after work though. Work, it’s just work, it doesn’t define me. that’s what I’ve been thinking that makes me smile a tad bit. I’ve been miserable for the last few… well almost a year now that I think about it. Probably because I’ve been focusing so much on one aspect of my life. Work and making money. The other day when I was hanging out with my best friend she said, “Whenever I’d hear people say ‘more money more problems’ I thought they were crazy, like ;whaat no way’, but now that I have this job I’m like you’re fucking right.” Haha. I love her, she and I can relate or listen like nobody else in my family. Which can be sad if I want to look at it in a certain perspective, but it can be pleasing. To know that I can at least make a connection like that with somebody. There’s people out there that have no such connection with anybody, they disdain their family AND all their friends. But let’s not talk about other people. let’s talk about this. I’m starting sentences with ‘but’ and I did not capitalize that last ‘L’ in my last sentence. Tumblr does not have Auto Correct like smartphones and Microsoft Word….(speaking of Microsoft Word, I state that I am advanced to expert on it on my resume and intelligent Me should really be searching for a better job, but Real Me is doing what I think I should be doing…. writing an entry after drinking half a bottle of wine and starting on a tall can of beer)… so I let tumblr do what it must with my laziness in editing. I am playing The Killers in the background and doing what I like the most, Life is great right now. I wish I could get paid for writing and listening to music. technically my job pays me for writing (numbers and formal letters and stuff) while listening to music, but it does not fill the empty hole in my … not even heart, soul.
I never find a more relieving moment in time than when I write it all out. Of coarse, a lot of what i have written stays in my journals or is shredded to pieces, because like normal human beings, I have regrets and display a colorful life. People can be really judgmental. Which is a big thought in my mind, given the fact that mother has always cared about what people think. I care about what people think, but I care more about myself. Therefore, I’ll share with everyone and anyone, just enough, but not enough. because to be honest, what makes me, Me, is what only Me knows. That’s a great thing. Even if it’s not, it’s a great thing. Nobody knows every exact thought I think when I am over the workload at my job.. sitting in traffic or laying in bed before sleeping, those thoughts that fill my idle mind, are (i hope) thoughts that have filled every idle mind at some point. Thoughts that inspire, thoughts that discourage, thoughts that make me human. I am not too fond of myself, but at the same time, I gotta love me. Look at me! I get myself by through every single waking day thus far. Every day is not a showcase that I would like to present in front of my family or peers, but check it out, I still get by. I’m ridiculous, clumsy, out of control, and lack motivation, but my goodness, do I get myself through the day. It’s a work in progress, but I’m discovering things. For the first time in my life, I have found an absolute favorite. A favorite in music, The Killers. Now I don’t care what you have to say about them if it’s negative or not that great, I really don’t. This is a big step for me because for a good nineteen years I could never find something that I could be so passionate about. Now I know that’s not what my mom or society looks forward to, “girl finds passion in interest of alternative rock band”, but you gotta listen. If I can find a passion in ONE sense of my life, because really, this is the ONLY sense of my life in which I have ever found passion, then I am damn well going somewhere. I am on the right journey. This journey, this journey is mine and nobody else’s. Life is what you make it. I want to make mine about me, and exercising myself to the fullest of my potential. Now that I know I am capable of being passionate about a single thing, I KNOW that I can become passionate about a single thing that will make me who I must become… I just gotta find it. I love writing. You have no idea, you think this is crap? This isn’t anything, this is me literally writing everything I can think of as fast as my fingers can type. I know what makes me happy and I know what makes me miserable, and I’ve got to tell you, for the past Fifteen years… or however long I’ve known how to write, I know I love doing it. I love making cheesy poems and journal entries and essays and descriptions and loving text messages where I pour my soul out and birthday cards that I fill out to the brim. I may not be talented, I may not be relevant. but my goodness, it gets me by.. everyday.. Everyday. I’m always thinking, “I should write this down.”
"That’s funny, remember that."
"Oh my goodness it makes so much sense".
the list goes on. This makes me happy. and hey, if doing this once in a blue moon… like literally, a random Wednesday evening I have off before Thanksgiving… then so be it. I love writing out what I think, It;s great, I don’t promise it will make sense to anybody else but myself, but the great thing about life is that everyone is in it for themselves. I’m most likely the only soul who will ever read this entire thing. Heck, I’ll try to read it once I push post, but I don’t know how far I’ll get… or when I’ll notice it’s a grammatical and technical mess…