| i used to write a lot. i guess i "blogged." i'd write an entry here almost every day. writing became less and less frequent and more and more whiny as the years passed until i finally became so disgusted with myself and my words that i decided i was through with it. i still wrote occasionally, but never about myself and certainly never publicly.
i hate to complain or really express any negative feelings toward anything in my life because i feel that i've certainly got it better than a lot of people, and i have no right. but i think maybe that doesn't matter. everyone has their own problems relative to their own lives. for some, it's finding a way to eat for the day. for others, it's deciding on a career path. for someone else, it's figuring out how to ask that really neat person they've been talking to to hang out. some of these situations are obviously a little more serious (in a life-or-death sense, i mean) but that doesn't make them any less important to the person they're happening to. so...i can address my problems. i can take them seriously. i'm not quite so comfortable airing them now as i once was. but i can talk about them. and so i come back to xanga, if only for a moment. i can't quite explain the difference between posting something here and writing it down in a notepad file, but this feels so much more cathartic.
i feel like any time i try to advance my station, something pushes me back down. it always seems like a deterrent, but is it secretly a test? and if so, for what? from whom? i know i shouldn't allow myself to be put into a box and yet i feel it happening anyway. i want to change it, but not maybe badly enough. i feel like i need a reason, but i don't know what or why. i'll forever have hope in the future, but the present looks awfully bleak sometimes.
god, i had a point when i started this. i need to go to bed. i think i've said enough. tomorrow is a new day. |
