I haven't been feeling great to begin with. I'm a sucker for safety, despite all my idiocy in accruing bodily harm and attracting trouble. And because of that, I'm now 25 and never had a reckless youth. Well, I did, but only when it was safe. I've been working full time nearly since I graduated, I've never left New York, and despite the fact that I have more money in the back than anyone else I know my age, I've never done anything cool with it. I don't have the time.
I haven't had a crappy job since I left college, unless you count porn as a crappy job, but I haven't had the typical slogging-it-out post-college jobs most of my friends have.
Part of me wants a house. I really do want a house; I have serious furniture lust and all, but it's seeming kind of stupid to have a house when I've never been anywhere. I don't know, all my rashness has to do with taking part in activities that may not be the wisest for preserving physical health, and not with doing anything really exciting that's more likely to leave me physically intact. When I graduated, I had itchy soles for a bit, I wanted to get out, I wanted to move to England, or, briefly, Georgia (yeah, because I was insane and thought I was going to go live on an artists' commune). I settled for NYC, which was, yeah, where I really wanted to be, but now instead of being there for one year, I've been here for three and haven't done anything. Living in a city does nothing for you if you have a full-time job. Making money is worthless if you spend all your time doing it and have no time to spend it.
Fuck. I'm not a romantic, but I wanna be a starving artist. I want to have time to do what I want to do. I know what people mean when they talk about being chained to a desk job and I don't want that to be me. But I don't know how to leave. It sucks to be chained to something that you really, honestly think is cool and don't want to leave. But I wanted to be a writer and so far I'm just screwing myself over. You can't get successful at something if you don't start, and writing takes a damn good long time.
So yeah, now everyone else is starting back to school, and Mikey's got his first year as a teacher starting and it's been three years and I haven't done crap with myself.
Well, I have. I'm supposed to be accomplished, and I've supposedly accomplished a crapload more than most people my age, but, well, when it's not what you set out to accomplish, it takes some of the edge off it.
I want to go back to school. Maybe just cause everyone else is starting school cause it's the fall, but, I dunno, maybe I just want to get better at things. I'm in one of those moods where I feel like everthing I've ever done is crappy.
Argh and it doesn't help when you've lived alone for two weeks and the person you've lived with for the past seven years comes back for one night and you realize that, god, you'd rather live alone. I DON'T want the television on first thing in the morning. I don't want it on every minute of the day. I don't want someone trying to start conversations about stupid crap when I'm trying to run out the door in the morning. I don't want to have to go eat just because someone else is hungry. I want to play music, which I can't do with the TV on. I want my house clean, dammit. I don't want someone vying for my attention when I don't want to give it.
I guess it's good I've realized that. There's no fucking way I'm going to make a decent parent anytime soon. And if Mary Shelley knew what she was talking about, that kinda means I have to write.
To top it all off, I went to bed earlier than I usually do and woke up with a fucking migraine to end all migraines.
"...and that dirtiest of all dirty words, promising."
Someone tell me to shove it. I'm becoming a walking cliche.