October is usually my favorite month, when I'm not desperately seeking relief. What I mean is, I should be having fun, but I'm not. October offers so many fun things. Fall carnivals, pumpkin patches, cool weather to enjoy, and Halloween. Sadly, I am not finding any time to enjoy it.
This may be the worst semester I've ever had. I'm not going to go into specifics, but my school work is almost impossible to do. I can't force myself to do the things I need to do. I have no problem reading for my English classes, but I cannot start on my papers. I feel their eminent reality pressing my shoulders down. I feel like I'm swimming in a room full of files and I can't see the exit.
Not to mention the money problems my family's been having. Mom's got nothing, I've got nothing. I feel bad for even asking her for a few dollars for groceries. The government just won't cooperate either with her support checks and is a bitch (excuse me) to deal with my education benefits. I've had to call the government way more than I should have to this year. It's depressing and upsetting to think that there's money to be had and it's being held.
I am ready. I am ready to go home. Not 1241 Parkwood Chase. No. I mean Heaven. I'm ready. Take me now God, because there's nothing I want to deal with here. Nothing is worth it. Why the heck would I want to live in a world where everything is about money and sex? Why would I want to stay here, where nobody understands my heart and constantly judges me? Nothing can compare to Your grace and Your love, so why should I bother trying to find something similar here?
My fish is dying. My dog Sarah just passed. I won't allow myself to start on my papers. There's so much more. I can't see the light at the end.
I don't care if things will get better. I know they will. But there's always going to be something. There always IS something. Something that kills my soul.
Yes, I'm being pessimistic. Yes, I'm being dramatic. But it's how I feel. Period.
I hope to God that I am able to see a better day. I pray that He really does have a promise for me, for what have I done?
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Thought Vomit.
Even though I have decided to write a serious post, my mind wants to run around and avoid the thoughts I have to type out. It's like trying to catch a toddler to give them a bath. It involves a lot of chasing, hiding, and splashing.
I see it even in my conversations with people. I make light of things that have more weight to them. I say, "I don't know," or make it seem like it's not a big deal, that I'm not serious about what I do. I'm not sure where this strange attitude has come from, but it's here.
Nonetheless, I feel like I have to write about what's really bothering me...maybe because I can't talk about it.
Ever since I was 13, I felt like I had some kind of talent in writing. I noticed it after my dad died, and kept going with it. I figured that I'd like to write for the rest of my life and never thought about doing anything else. If I couldn't make money writing creatively, I'd make it in journalism. Besides, I really liked writing about issues and seeing my name in print.
I worked hard through high school and worked my butt off at Kennesaw State. I left there with a 3.8 and transferred to the University of Georgia to pursue my dream of becoming a journalist. It was the place I had aimed to go for years. It was my ultimate goal. It may have seemed small to those going to private universities or ivy leagues, but it was my plan.
Now that I'm here, I often wonder what the hell I'm doing here.
I thought I was doing well last semester when I got A's on all of my Fink term papers. Now my second class with him, I feel like a failure. Sure, I got a B on my first paper of the semester. A B is good. But it's not good when you've made an A+ on three papers before. It's not good when Fink (master of news writing) says "your writing kills you."
Your writing kills you.
The one thing I know I am good at, kills me.
I am not multi-talented like a lot of people I know. I cannot sing, I cannot draw or paint, I cannot master an instrument, and I cannot do a good number of things. All I know how to do is write. And of course, I cannot even do this very well. But for it to have ruined my paper... kills me.
I know that Fink is only trying to help me and teach me how to write better. I understand this. I just don't understand how I could go back in time in regards to my writing. Maybe it's because I'm taking two English courses? Whatever it is, I need to fix it.
I see it even in my conversations with people. I make light of things that have more weight to them. I say, "I don't know," or make it seem like it's not a big deal, that I'm not serious about what I do. I'm not sure where this strange attitude has come from, but it's here.
Nonetheless, I feel like I have to write about what's really bothering me...maybe because I can't talk about it.
Ever since I was 13, I felt like I had some kind of talent in writing. I noticed it after my dad died, and kept going with it. I figured that I'd like to write for the rest of my life and never thought about doing anything else. If I couldn't make money writing creatively, I'd make it in journalism. Besides, I really liked writing about issues and seeing my name in print.
I worked hard through high school and worked my butt off at Kennesaw State. I left there with a 3.8 and transferred to the University of Georgia to pursue my dream of becoming a journalist. It was the place I had aimed to go for years. It was my ultimate goal. It may have seemed small to those going to private universities or ivy leagues, but it was my plan.
Now that I'm here, I often wonder what the hell I'm doing here.
I thought I was doing well last semester when I got A's on all of my Fink term papers. Now my second class with him, I feel like a failure. Sure, I got a B on my first paper of the semester. A B is good. But it's not good when you've made an A+ on three papers before. It's not good when Fink (master of news writing) says "your writing kills you."
Your writing kills you.
The one thing I know I am good at, kills me.
I am not multi-talented like a lot of people I know. I cannot sing, I cannot draw or paint, I cannot master an instrument, and I cannot do a good number of things. All I know how to do is write. And of course, I cannot even do this very well. But for it to have ruined my paper... kills me.
I know that Fink is only trying to help me and teach me how to write better. I understand this. I just don't understand how I could go back in time in regards to my writing. Maybe it's because I'm taking two English courses? Whatever it is, I need to fix it.
....
What am I going to do with my life? Do I want to write for a newspaper? I'd prefer not to.
Do I want to write for a magazine? Sure, but it'd have to be something important to me and to a lot of people. I couldn't write about fashion forever... I don't feel like it's important enough.
Do I want to be an editor? Yes, but I want to write too.
I want to be able to be creative with my words. I want to be someone people listen to. Someone people get inspiration from. I don't want to be stuck in a city council meeting hearing about an ordinance that is to be passed. That's just not for me.
I thought to myself today, "am I one of those girls who don't know what they want?" The answer was "yes." I don't really know what I want for myself, but at least I know myself.
God my music is annoying the crap out of me.
What am I going to do with my life? Do I want to write for a newspaper? I'd prefer not to.
Do I want to write for a magazine? Sure, but it'd have to be something important to me and to a lot of people. I couldn't write about fashion forever... I don't feel like it's important enough.
Do I want to be an editor? Yes, but I want to write too.
I want to be able to be creative with my words. I want to be someone people listen to. Someone people get inspiration from. I don't want to be stuck in a city council meeting hearing about an ordinance that is to be passed. That's just not for me.
I thought to myself today, "am I one of those girls who don't know what they want?" The answer was "yes." I don't really know what I want for myself, but at least I know myself.
God my music is annoying the crap out of me.
....
Like I mentioned before, sometimes I wonder what I'm doing here. I only have one other friend here besides Jenna. Bless Jenna, she's included me so much in what she does with her friends. I don't think I'd be as content as I am if I wasn't her roommate. But I haven't made any friends on my own accord. What is it that stops me from talking to people, branching out? Melissa is one of my good friends, but I don't see her a lot.
Sometimes I feel so alone. Do I really only have two friends here?
Maybe I shouldn't be so hard on myself. I have only been here a little over a year. I have no connections here other than school.
Sometimes I feel so alone. Do I really only have two friends here?
Maybe I shouldn't be so hard on myself. I have only been here a little over a year. I have no connections here other than school.
....
As you can tell, I have no answers for anything.
No matter what I write here, I still feel like I haven't fully explained my feelings on anything. As if words could describe the aching I feel sometimes.
No matter what I write here, I still feel like I haven't fully explained my feelings on anything. As if words could describe the aching I feel sometimes.
Monday, October 12, 2009
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