The future is murder - 05.12.02 - 1:47 am
Look!

Warning: This will not be a happy entry. Feel free to ignore.

It's almost 2am and I can't sleep. I took a sleeping pill, which was very stupid cuz now I'm going to be a fucking zombie tomorrow. And if I didn't take it, I would still be a zombie, yet there would be that no-sleep pissiness. I chose the lesser of two evils.

I'm having a minor freak out. OK, maybe minor is an understatement, but I'm still wary of the phrase 'I'm freaking out' cuz I heard it so damn much in high school. He won't talk to me. I'm freaking out. My physics teacher hates me. I'm freaking out. I can't stop freaking out. I'm freaking out. Blah blah fucking blah.

What was I saying?

Oh, yeah. The minor freak out.

You know how sometimes the future is so fucking scary and uncertain you just want to die or at least curl up in a ball and cry until you can't breathe? Sure, you do. Everyone has gone through this at least once in their lives, right? This frantic wondering if you've wasted your life and totally fucked up any chance you have of being happy when you die? You know this, right?

Of course this has to do w/writing. Every thing has to do w/writing. I've made this my life...my one chance to succeed and make something of myself.

If I don't have writing, I have nothing.

Literally.

My Life Plan is to write stories. I want to publish books and be featured in magazines and tell Oprah my inspirations. OK, maybe not Oprah, but you know what I mean. I want to be happy in life and writing is the one thing that makes me jump around and smile at the sun. Everything else (w/the exception of Howie and Faygo) is second.

And, yeah, I know any career based on people liking you and wanting more of you is risky. Every single person who has learned I want to be a writer felt the need to tell me that. Repeatedly. Sometimes w/raised eyebrows. But, you know, I want this. I am this. I know what I'm going up against and I'm prepared for the battle. Like I've said before, there's a reason God gave me a modest sense of living standards. (Ha ha)

Christ, I'm rambling. I'll get to the point.

I can't write.

And I'm panicking.

Everything I put on paper is shit and I'm wondering if I've just been fooling myself the whole time. Maybe I'm not as talented as people say and they're just being nice. Maybe I should have gotten better grades in high school so I could get into college and study business or something. Maybe I shouldn't even bother.

I know this kind of thinking will be the death of me and everything I've dreamed. That is also scaring me. I can't make it if I keep thinking like this.

So why can't I stop?

Shit, tomorrow (or today if you're anal) is my first day at work. Nice. I'm going to be a goddamn basket case.

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