Just Do It, You'll be Glad You Did

It's been months since I've last posted. In these past three months or so, I've seen that I'm still unable to change my font. Sadists.

I wish I could say that I've been going through a lot, or there's been drama, or at least a good excuse not to be writing, but there really isn't. The other day I thought I was beginning my quarter life crisis early, and maybe I am. It only last for a few hours, but it may have just hidden itself deep inside my mind, waiting for another moment to come out. I've been feeling insanely discontent and restless. This isn't a new feeling, it comes in cycles. Every time though I manage to feel utterly helpless and lost. When it had happened in the past I always had the motivation to change it, and get what I want. In high school my only goal was to get out and go to school in the city. Done. When I couldn't find a roommate to live with after my freshman year, I commuted to school for a year and a half. I got a scholarship and a degree. Then I moved to New York, and right away I got a job, a group of new friends, and a boyfriend. Fantastic. Now here I am, three years later. I know what I want-to be making money off of my writing. To write for "SNL." To get an agent. Yet I'm not making much of an effort towards it. Maybe it's seasonal depression, but I just feel off. And even the solutions I give myself don't seem to work out, and I only have my self to blame. I guess I feel perpetually frustrated, with myself, with what I'm doing. How certain people won't listen to me. That's always been a theme throughout my life so far, that I constantly feel like I'm not being heard...even when I'm being loud and clear. Maybe that's why I write or have always looked to other creative outlets.

Another part of this is that I've actually reached a point where I can honestly say I don't want to be single anymore. I continually tell myself that once I have the job I want and am happy with that, then love can come. Makes sense? That area of my life has never been easy. The guys that have meant the most to me I met in weird ways. So the idea of meeting some dude at a bar grosses me out. I've certainly dated enough people. It seems that when it comes to guys, they either adore me or could care less about me except for the possibility of getting laid. And with one certain person, who I've known longer than any guy, I recently learned that I don't know which category he fits into. And it hurts. And I wish I could be strong enough to cut ties. I never thought this would be how it ends though. But you don't listen to me. And you don't seem to genuinely care.

Ugh.

Today finally provided a small glimmer of hope for me. The noisy Mexican restaurant right below my apartment is up for rent. I've been waiting for this day since I moved in. I can only hope that something annoying doesn't replace it. Put in a boutique or something. Anything but a bar. The noise would be bad, as would the convenience. Yikes.

So what I need to do is write more. And this is my new start. A blog a day. A sketch a day. Anything, everyday. It's nothing but a step in the right direction.