Hopes on hold.

I'd like to talk about the mixed emotions of having to put dreams aside.

I'm an artist, first and foremost a writer.  If you didn't know this, you can pretty much facepalm yourself right now.  My business, my passion, and the one thing in the world that brings me more joy than anything else--aside from my multitude of artistic interests, swimming, or spending time with the people I love--is writing.  Sometimes it has to be the 'old-fashioned,' completely physical act of writing words on pages with a pen; sometimes I get all the contentment I need from composing a blog entry.  Sometimes I force myself, because although my best work comes from my emotional moments, anger and sadness can also shut me down so very easily.  And sometimes, I literally cannot stop writing; I'll have so much to say that I'll write until I'm exhausted.  

This is me forcing myself, because it's something painful to me.

I graduated from college in June 2010, my diploma in journalism in hand, and I had big dreams.  I wanted to start job searching, begin my career, do my art thing in my spare time and really throw myself into activities I loved and really beginning my life.  John Lennon said life interrupts you while you're busy trying to make other plans, and he couldn't have been more right.

(I'd like to note before I go on that I realize two years isn't that big of a deal in comparison to other peoples' length of time spent away from doing the things they want, their views of lost time and how they wish they'd done things differently.)

My parents wanted me to go to university and get a degree, and I also figured it wouldn't be too shabby of an idea.  Since September 2010 I've done full-time school and part-time work, although I had two jobs.  And realistically speaking, I was still moving toward my dreams, being enrolled in a communications program.  I had no time to pursue anything outside of school, but I digress.

Now, I'm working full-time in a kitchen and I'll be going to school part-time, beginning either in the summer or the fall.  I start work at seven almost every night, and come home at four or five a.m., with me ending up sleeping all day before work because it's so physical and I'm trying to get used to a night schedule. 

Listen: I am all about seizing the day, jumping in with both feet, and chasing down one's dreams.  I preach those ideals like nobody's business.  Because I believe in them, a thousand per cent.  What's the point in having a life if you're not going to do what you love?  Seriously?  And what's the point in building up your life if you're not spending as much time as possible building your dreams along the way?

So, this is where I find myself.  I'm paying my bills, I'm starting to save up for things that I want and a little bit of security, and my life consists of sleeping, working, and occasionally doing stuff I like to do--like buying a slushie on my way home from work, taking a bubble bath, or playing my XBox.  

Which is fine, as I enjoy the little things as much as I enjoy bringing my dreams to life.  What really bothers me is not having the energy, the drive, to try and find a job in my industry.  Or to do any freelance.  Or legit creative writing.  Basically, I see my goals in my mind, and I want them pretty badly--but I have no energy.  None.  So I've kind of shuffled off to the side, quietly carrying on my dull life and hoping that someday, I'll find that sudden spark to throw me into action and really motivate me to get things done.

My life as a whole really doesn't begin to bother me until I realize how many friends of mine have begun their careers.  Maybe not exact versions of what they want, but still ending up closer to their careers than, say, me.  Don't get me wrong: I'm so proud of them.  I love every one of them to death and it makes me happy to see them succeed.  Many days, though, I feel like I'm on a completely different level than them; a level below them.  Like I'm running to catch up to them and I'm never quite able to.  

I know my job is no different from anyone else's lifestyle, I just wish I didn't feel so subpar.

I bet I can guess what you're thinking.  "Well, if you're unhappy, get off your ass and start seizing your dreams."

Hm.  If only.

Someday soon I hope to be able to pull my hopes and desires down from that really high shelf they're sitting on, take hold of them, and start putting them into action.  I hope to get out of this greasy, dead-end kitchen and find myself working from home or at a desk doing some late-night writing, not much unlike this, that the world will care about and maybe even pay me to continue doing.

Despite even days like this, when I'm feeling like working toward what I want is close to hopeless, and my goals may never quite be reachable, or everything I hoped they'd be, I know the most important thing about any of this is to be relentless in my pursuit of happiness.  Even on my worst days, I will not lose sight of what I want from life, and what I believe I can give back to the world.  I may need to kick myself every so often as a self-reminder that there's more waiting for me, no matter where I am in life; I may believe that I have to put my dreams aside for awhile in order to survive and get myself set up in a practical manner; but I will never give up on my dreams.  No one can take them from me or deter me.  I can't let them. 

Dreams of fields, closure or the next best things.

Sometimes, I feel like I was maybe ruined somehow.  I fell in love, am convinced it nearly destroyed me, and now everything seems different.  Probably not in a good way.  Mostly in a what-happened-to-my-awesome-tunnel-vision-wow-I've-really-disappointed-myself kinda way.  

The things and people I should be focusing on, I can't; the people and things I'm focusing on, I shouldn't.

It's a terrible feeling.  Like some jerk wandered in, turned your system off, switched all the breakers around on your inner circuit board, and flipped the power switch back on while wandering away, whistling to themselves.  WHAT THE FUCK, DOUCHEFOUNTAIN?

So here I am, trying to figure out where the breakers used to be, putting some in places where they don't belong and briefly ending up in worse shape than I was before--now, throw in some stopping to wonder to myself if I can really revert myself back to my old ways, or if it's useless, and leaving that circuit work where it is will do no more harm than it already has.

Voluntary change, brief phase, or maturation?  I'll still try to put my pieces back together, but I guess may never really know the damage or the repair until I'm done.

Goddamn those eyes and they way they see into me.
Goddamn them. 

I just want to feel whole and right again.

 

Some things that hide in the corners.

Loneliness.  God, what a terrible emotion to be stuck with.

You can disagree with me on this if you like, but I honestly believe that no one is above or able to escape loneliness.  It's the one emotion that can find us at any given time if it really wants to; no warning, no reason.  Sometimes there's a certain catalyst to blame, like a traumatic effect or major life change (moving out of your parents' place, losing a sibling, starting your career).  And other times, it just comes up out of nowhere, going off in the mind and the heart like a bomb.

Either way, the effects usually feel the same: a deafening inner silence; a wake of sadness settling like the heaviest blanket in the world that will never move again.  That's the worst part about loneliness--it feels like all hope is gone.  Permanently.

It's an odd thing that even occasionally likes to jump in when all else is going just fine.  Your job, school, family, relationship, social life, and bank account are all doing great?  Not anymore, 'cause loneliness decided it's going to jump in and screw with your head, because it's a douche like that and wants to see you squirm.  

Friends wonder why they get texts and the occasional permissive visit in the wee hours of the morning.  I can't blame them.  Wouldn't I rather be sleeping?  Well, yeah, most days.  But I can't sleep.  I cannot stand being alone with my thoughts.

It's been difficult, living with one other person with an opposite schedule, and not having a vehicle to jump into and visit my friends on the fly, like I used to.  Now I notice how often I'm alone.  And how much I hate it.  It hurts.

Don't lose your cool if I text you at two, three, four a.m., asking if you're still awake.  I'm just trying to drown myself out and am probably missing the hell out of you.

  

The End of 2011, "Yay I moved out," etc.

You know, saying or writing that never gets old.  Goddamn, it feels good.
Also, I'm lazy.  I'm sorry.  My lack of entries kinda makes me feel like a failwhale, but life's been busy, so I'll recap on the highlights and lowlights of 2011 and we'll go from there.
Sound good?  'Kay.  Onward!

I no longer live my parents.
And that's indescribably happifying.
(Happifying is too a word!) 
I made the decision based on many things, which I will leave out for now, but the jist of them being I just needed to spread my wings and junk.
I live with my coworker and one of my very good friends, and I find we live well together.  We're like-minded.  Our living adventures probably began, in a sense, during the spring and summer when we dog-sat for our mutual friend and coworker.  Then, due to an unfortunate decision on his parental's part, and a surging tornado of frustration and unhappiness living with my parentals, we decided it was time to mutually gtfo.  A few days later, we were doing late-night apartment hunting sessions off McDonalds's WiFi network.  I found one during a solo late-night hunting session at home and brought it up to him; we made an appointment and visited the place.  We were limited somewhat by price, location and pet allowance.  (Unfortunately, I couldn't bring my dog, although that was the initial plan.  More later on.)  When we'd visited the apartment, we had a discussion about its conditions and what we would have to do to be able to live there comfortably.  We were both pretty partial to the fact that we're a few minutes' drive/ a half-hour walk from the University we both attend.  After a little back-and-forth with the rental agent, we made plans to sign the lease. 
At this point, I still hadn't told my parents, because I was a little pessimistic about their reactions.  However, the morning after we'd gotten everything all figured out, my mother confronted me about my plans.  She was angry for about ten minutes and then told me how proud of me she was, I must be scared, etc.  (Cha, I was terrified.)  We arranged to have a sit-down with my Dad to break the news to him, er, gently.  Ha.  Roomie and I signed the lease a few days later, and, holding those keys to our apartment?  Yeah, that felt pretty great.  That was December 23rd.  I started packing that night.
Then came telling Dad.  I told him about my plans to move the night of Boxing Day, right after I'd come home from work and right after our big annual Christmas family dinner.  I was armed with a budget plan and a good arsenal of arguments.  The discussion went a little something like this:

"Dad, sit down here for a sec."
"Uh oh, why?"
"Humour me.  C'mere."
*Dad sits*
"You're probably going to want to smack me..."
"Uh oh."
"... And you're not going to like what I have to say..."
"Ah shit, what did you do?"
"I'm moving out.  Soon.  Really soon." [Moving day was four days away.]
"When?"
"Friday."
*He laughs* "Where?"
"California [Avenue]."
"Oh I don't think so."
"Oh yes.  I already signed the lease."
"I don't think that's a good idea.  You don't make enough money."
*whips out budget plan*  "Actually, I do."
*Dad reads it, looks at me like he wants to hit me*  "I don't think so."
"Dad, you gotta go with me on this.  I've done my homework."
{Mum} "It's true, she's done a lot of work."
*Dad glares at Mum* "You don't make enough money to live on your own."
"Dad, hear me out here.  I make enough money to do this.  It's not going to be easy.  I know sacrifices will need to be made, and I'm fine with that.  It's going to be hard.  Some weeks are going to be really hard.  But it's time.  I can do this, and I need to.  I can't just spring from my parents' house with zero experience of living on my own, especially if I need to move out of the city to find work--which, in my field, is more than likely.  I would be more likely to fall flat on my face doing that than I am right now.  I need to have some kind of experience with this, or I won't know what the hell I'm doing.  And I can't wander into the great big world at 23 or 24 and have no idea of what I'm doing.  Don't you think that would put me at a big disadvantage?"
*Dad stares at me, stands, and walks toward the sink, thoroughly annoyed*  "I don't think this is a good idea."
"Dad, I'm not going to be a million miles away.  I'm a twenty-minute drive from here.  I'm still going to be around.  But I need to do this."
*Dad looks at me and Mum, sighs, shakes his head, and walks downstairs*
{Mum} "You did a great job!  That took guts."
:)

Much to my delight, I didn't give my Dad a heart attack.  Much to my utter shock and amazement, he and Mum helped roomie and I with the home improvements on our apartment (actually, he led the way--I was dumbstruck).  So!  Much of the apartment was painted and cleaned, and we were pretty much done by Thursday, December 29th.  Friday, December 30th was moving day.  Some of my very best friends helped us move that day, and I could never thank them enough, because it meant so much to have them there to help me move from one part of my life to the next chapter.
It makes me sad that I couldn't bring Chance, my dog who has gotten me through everything I've faced for over a decade, but he's 12--a move to an apartment with a newish person and a cat (his greatest fear in the world, no joke) would probably lead him to sickness and doggie depression.  He remains at my parents' and I miss him every single day.
Anyway, we moved all our shit in, got some organization done, did some grocery shopping, and here we are!  Roomie is currently painting his room, and I will be painting mind when I get my effing stuff under control (there's so much of it, good God).  He's doing the bluest blue I have ever seen on any surface, and I'll probably go with yellow or green or something.  Maybe a shade of red, we shall see.
I like to call our apartment, in its current state, a happy mess.

I've started my fourth semester at the university, and my God, it's gonna be difficult.  Two hardcore psychology courses (Abnormal Psychology and Introduction to Psychology and the Brain), Alternative Media (YAY ♥ 'cause the prof is awesome) and Intro to Kinesiology (there was nothing left to take, seriously).  It will suck at many times I'm sure, but I'm willing to bet that I'll have significantly less stress than any of my previous semesters. 

My biggest problem right now is that I don't have a car.  My beloved '95 Grand Am, Fes, will soon be sent to her final resting place.  It breaks my heart.  This means I'm currently looking for a new vehicle, and it's grueling, to say the very least.  It's not even the price of a new car that matters as much as the insurance on a new car, and trust me, it's not easy to find a '90s model car that was in as great of running order as my beloved Fes was.  I had managed to get a 2000 Dodge Neon, however, a pre-safety inspection found a cracked rod that would lead to a $2000 repair.  That car is a no-go.  Sigh.  I really need a vehicle quite soon, because getting to work and running my errands is becoming increasingly difficult without one.  I feel absolutely terrible asking people for rides.  It's breaking my whole self-sufficiency kick in a very uncool way.

Although 2011 overall sucked something terrible right up to mid-December, I'm surprised (yet pleased) to say ended quite well, and 2012 has begun beautifully.  Here's hoping to getting a new car-friend soon and starting my semester off right.

More soon!  My hands hurt.  And you must be tired from reading my rambling.  Go get some Subway.

I don't even know what to say for myself these days.

Maybe I'm overreacting, but I'm beginning to wonder if I'm going completely insane.

There are days I just want to step outside myself and shake myself to ask what the fuck I want.  What I need.  Why I think I'm going to find it where I've been looking, yearning, wasting my time with.

Other days I wish I could travel in a tiny submarine to the part(s) of my mind that need rewiring so I can get myself some much-needed peace.  I've had too many of these stupid days where I sit there staring at my phone and just wanting to talk and talk and talk to make my words work magic like they always do.

They're not working.  I need more.

I don't know what to do.  So I bury myself in music, in song, to distract my pained confusion.

But the silence.  It intensifies everything tenfold just when I thought I've escaped for an hour.

It's official, I'm crazy.