If you could have anything, right now, right in front of you, what would it be?
A book deal. I would have finished my novel. It would be great. I am so proud of this. It is a part of me. An extension of my imagination. I finally did it. I finally finished it. The jacket is exactly what I pictured it as. They gave me the first copy. I opened the box, and just paused. It was breathtaking. It was magical. I am a writer.
I�m getting distracted now. I don�t mean to. It�s just easier to be mindless. To always expect the worst, and see it happen. It�s easier to avoid conflict, change, unknown. I don�t want to take the easy road, I just can�t help merging onto it every once in a while. Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh, I am never going to get anything done at this rate. How can I be a writer if I don�t even write?
blah blah. The cats are screaming at me. They want to be let out of their room. Not that the room is that small. They just want to be out in the rest of the house, so that they can ignore me. I�m convinced that they hate me. I don�t know why, but they do.
somebody got two dozen red roses today at work. I�m sure by my tone that you�ve guessed that it wasn�t me. Not that I need two dozen red roses. It�s just that romantic, mushy stuff always gets me. Not that Lance isn�t romantic. Not that I need all that schmoopy stuff. It�s just nice once in a while. Can you blame me? Does it make me unrealistic? Am I asking too much? Should I just try to forget it? Do I repress the hopeless romantic in me, or do I encourage her? No idea on that one, could go either way.
I can�t believe it�s almost 10pm. I am sitting on my couch, with the keyboard on my lap, watching sex & the city in my pajamas, feeling sorry for myself, listening to my cats yowl. I feel awful. I want to let everything out. My dad, my job, my writing, my life. I have been repressing, and it�s killing my creativity. I�ve killed the kid in me. Maybe not killed, maybe just locked away in her room. Arg. I want the me I used to be. I want to have that awe & wonder back. I want to look up at the stars, and wonder if there is another little girl looking back at me from the far corners of the universe. I want to believe in angels & miracles & santa claus. I want to make believe that my life departs from the mundane normalness of paper and excel files and dives into the unknown oceans of fairies & dragons & elves & the total absence of �normal� life. Enough of this stressful, cubic existence. Enough of the paperwork and the mortgage and the bills and the grocery shopping. Enough of �you should live this way� or �you should do this this way� or �you have to be normal�. Fuck normal. I�m not, and I don�t care. I want to dream wildly and sing loudly and write bad poetry and be myself in all my imperfect glory. I want to tell stories, and learn how to write stories well. I want to bake cookies and love myself and be the me that I am, without any regard to anybody who might judge me for it. I want to live life, instead of just going through the motions like I have been for so long. I don�t know what the hell to do next, but I am not going to life that life anymore. I need to be me. I need to be creative. I need to breathe and read and love and smile. I want to scream at the top of my lungs �I REFUSE TO BE ANYTHING BUT MYSELF ANYMORE!!! I DON�T HAVE TO BE ANYTHING I DON�T WANT TO BE!!!� so why don�t I? Not entirely sure. Nobody is home aside from me & the little bastards, er, I mean the cats...it�s a scary thought. To just speak it aloud, much less scream it. I learned the other day that saying something out loud takes 3 times as many nerve impulses as thinking it. So why can�t I say it? I can�t even lie about it as I type this. You will know that I am lying, and that I�m a big fat liar. I can be such a chicken-shit. I can read the words. I can hear myself shouting them in my head. Why is it so hard to do it? Because it challenges me. It invites change in. If I say it, it must be true, and that would change everything. I want things to change, true, but it�s safer if they stay the same. So why is miserable & safe better than honest & unknown? I have no idea. It�s not really, it just seems that way now.
Wow. Can you tell I did it? Well, sort of. I didn�t scream it, but I didn�t whisper it, either. It�s amazing how saying something out loud can change your whole view of things. Maybe it�s true. Maybe I don�t have to be anything I don�t want to be. It is true. I don�t have to be anything I don�t want to be. I can be anything I want to be. I can be free to be me.
And on that note, I�m going to bed. It�s after 10pm, and I still have cramps, and I could use a good night�s sleep. Night night.