Random things

As I sit here working, pulling yet another all-nighter, I am stuck (yet again) with a brain that will not turn off. How I long for a moment of rest where I can just relax and not think about anything whatsoever. But those moments only happen when I am intoxicated or medicated. And since I generally prefer not to be either one, except on certain occasions where its just plain NEEDED, I have to suffer through the endless chatter that takes place in my head.

The chatter consists of two things… the past and the future. The funny thing is that I live my life for neither. A non-existent “savings” account and the fact that I seem to repeat the same mistakes over and over again obviously shows that to be true. The fully awake conscious-me considers the past to be just something fucked up that happened back in the day and a future is something I’ll only have if I win the lottery. Not that I don’t work really hard to make a future for myself. Trust me, I work really hard. But in my head, the place where I am a daydreaming lunatic, the past comes at me with a vengeance.

My past is extremely difficult for me. I’m sure many of you (if anyone is actually reading this) feel the same about yours. I can safely say that my life from birth until high school was painful and too involved for me to even get into on this very public soapbox of mine. High school for me did suck, but there were a few lights at the end of that tunnel, some of them being people (you know who you are – even if things didn’t end well), and some of them being certain occasions where, for some odd reason, I ended up with a smile on my face and a fond memory. I loved college. It was a refreshing place to be at that time in my life (I went much later after high school). For the most part, I have enjoyed my mid twenties to early thirties. So now, at thirty two years old, I can say that I am happy. But still there is something missing, and that is where my future comes in.

I consider myself old. I believe this to be true because lately I have been noticing the differences between me and the people in their twenties. See, people in their twenties…. well…. they suck. If you are in your twenties and you hate me for saying that, just trust me. When you are in your thirties, you will remember how much you sucked when you were in your twenties and then you’ll come back here and leave me a comment telling me how right I was and that I must be a fucking genius.

You see Twenty Year Old… you don’t know what you want. You think you know. But you don’t. You really don’t. Don’t argue with me! You don’t. And by the time you figure out what it is you want, well its usually too late by then. Of course there is the saying that its “never too late”. And really, it’s never too late. Its just harder when you do it later. So here I am, thirty two, and its later and its harder and I want to do things that I can’t do because its hard and I don’t know how to do them and other things all at the same time. And so there is my problem.

When you are a creative person and you can’t be creative, its painful. It keeps you up at night. It depresses you. So you say fuck it and you do something creative one day, but it takes a hold of you and that day turns into two days, three days. And then you’ve really fucked up because when you are in your thirties, with a house, a job, and kids, three days is not something you have to spare. After a fuck up like that, you go back to your “normal” life. But then you get the urge again to do something creative. Only this time, you don’t give in because you remember what it did to you last time. So you put it off.

I’ve put it off for so long that I think I’m going to explode. What I am talking about is:

1. making music
2. being crafty again

I don’t have time for these things. They have become dreams, things I will do in the future when I have time. I keep saying I am going to do them, but I don’t, and it keeps gnawing on my insides like I have some sort of disease. I’m sure it IS a disease and if there are any psychologists reading this, please slap a name on that disease for me so I’ll at least know what to call myself.

I can get away with not doing the crafty stuff for a while longer. Its the music part that is killing me. Because I think I am capable of producing something great. I may be tooting my own horn, but its something I truly believe. The band I was in doesn’t count. Well, it counts, but I mean as far as what I have to offer. Because there were 3 other people in that band and I wasn’t able to do everything my way. I have plans going on in my head for doing some songs my way, by myself. And I want to do them so bad. But I can’t. I have bills. An injured husband. Two kids. Christmas on the way.

I know Christmas will be over soon. And my husband won’t be injured anymore. And I’ll get some time off from work. But I can hardly stand it. I’ve always had the ability to make something from nothing. But as I get older, my ability goes to waste. When you love to do something and are actually capable of making it happen, but you can’t do it for whatever reason, well… it sucks. And so you go online and type and pretend there is someone who understands why you think you are so fucked up.

Posted in Personal