Wednesday, August 27, 2008

All These Things That I Have Done* Part I

I can't write this on my blog. Or can I? Do I want to taint this image that I hope I you have of me here? It's hard. Will I hit delete or publish?

I called in sick on Monday and half of Tuesday. Sore throat. Allergies. Drainage. Sure. Whatever.

My throat is sore because I'm not speaking for myself. I'm not voicing my true opinions because I'm afraid of pissing someone off, of saying the wrong thing, of doing what I want to do.

I know this. I know why it hurts.

I know why I'm depressed. Because I spent all day Saturday wandering around shops with my two best friends, looking at these creations that others have made and they sell. And I want to be doing that too.

So badly.

And yet, I can't. Not right now. Who knows if ever. Right now I have to get up when my god-forsaken alarm goes off so I can drag my ass into a job that is actually an ok job in the list of jobs I've held. I get to write, I usually feel good about helping people and in this area the pay is ok.

But. I sit all day. In front of a computer. I sit and my scars hurt so bad some days it really isn't pleasant. I listen to people complain about something and wonder why they fell for it in the first place, then remember I've done my fair share of 'believing' and fell for a few things, too. So then I wonder why can't they just learn from it and go on with their lives. I did. I've never taken sunflower seeds from friend or foe again since that one afternoon in fifth grade...

So. I know I'm depressed when I want to stay in bed all day. I have the small (tiny, minuscule, piece of fuzz...) small moments of manic creativity - but those flames are so quickly put out nowadays. Just remind myself of where I'm living. What money I don't have to spend. The projects I haven't finished, much less started. The projects I've made messes of, and the fact that it's 1:30 in the morning and I need to get some sleep so my alarm can wake me up in a few hours. Snap. So easy. Drop down like a lead balloon.

I am proud of myself for finally being able to call myself a writer - because I get paid for some of these words I put together in other places.

I am proud of myself for...

For what? Working 40 hours a week (no more than - no overtime allowed) to pay off debt so that maybe someday I can again dream of building my own space?

No. Actually I'm miserable. Because this is not where I had hoped to be at this point in my life. And this is not where I want to be even with the changes that have happened.

And I may want things for my life that no one else understands but it's one of those things. When I follow my heart, my gut, my instincts - I'm right. When I second guess myself because someone else pipes up and says "You're doin' it wrong!" - that's when it sucks.

Because alarm clocks and desk jobs may work for you, but they sure as hell don't work for me.


*The Killers.
"Yeah, oh don't you put me on the blackburner
You know you got to help me out
You're gonna bring yourself down...
If you can hold on
If you can hold on..."

Holding on...

I hit publish.


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