Blurry Worry

I've come this far

better go back

backtrack

I've fallen in

should climb out

climb in

why shouldn't I stay there

in there

it's lighter down here

than up here

although a brighter pain

a lesser fear

So anyway

My quest to become a professional writer is a perilous one. Not so much physical peril, but definitely emotional and financial. Student loans are hard to qualify for now-a-days. I'm paid for now, but I'm not sure what I'll do about the fall. I wont worry too much right now, though. It's not like I've explored all of my options, so my eyes are still fairly dry. The thing is, I'm the kind of person that might never explore her options, and then cry about it later like I never had a chance.
Have you ever seen "House of Sand and Fog"? There's a scene in that movie that I'll never forget. The girl stands there as if she were paralyzed, staring at the weeks of unopened mail that still lies on the floor. She thinks if she doesn't open the mail, then she doesn't have to face her reality. Even though the mound beneath her letter slot is probably just as torturous as opening one, she cant bring herself to face it. Low and behold, a bailiff comes to foreclose the home her father built, and she is absolutely shocked and unprepared. She cant believe what is happening. Was she playing stupid? No. She convinced herself the letters were nothing. She believed it. It was her brain coping with her stress. A very ineffective brain, I might add. A brain I think I might share.
I have comfort in the fact that, unlike her, I'm aware of this "condition." I hope that acknowledging it will keep me away from it. I would like to be a proactive person, always on top of things. I want to be someone who contributes to, and creates her happiness instead of just convincing herself of it. Which reminds me, I need to buy a letter opener.

These Days...

are rough and tumble; poor and sobering; long and dark; too many to count, if you're counting;

too much to pray for,

if you're praying.

Missing things

I'm missing things....like church on sundays, and my guitar strings.

What About a Mixed Tape?

I used to love making mixed tapes. I always tried to stop the tape at the exact moment the radio guy came on so I could make the tape sound as real as possible. I could never stop it in time, though. The announcers would just but in over top of the song. It wasn't even finished yet and there they were, butting in over the last few bars. It was like they were trying to mess up my compilation so that I would be forced to listen to their station. Little did they know, I didn't care. It was a free tape! Plus, I got to make the cover and everything else that went with pre-teen manufacturing. Though, I probably would care now. Yes, now I think It might really frustrate me. "Come on! Arrgg, why do they keep doing that!? Are they high? God, people want to hear the rest of the song, buddy! Heelllloooo!" That's if I even had the energy to attempt a mixed tape, not that it takes much physical energy, but it's the mental energy I wouldn't be able to spend. Despite my increasing frustration, I would keep attempting it, even if I knew the outcome. What's that called? Insanity? It wouldn't be about the free tape, or the cover anymore; instead, it would be about winning, beating them at their game. Yeah, my emotions can take the fun right out of things sometimes. In reality though, I would probably spend hours making the cover perfect, and never get to the making of the tape.