Today was a bad, bad day for me. I finally made a decision about where I want my life to go. I have settled for very little in the last few years and it simply isn't working for me anymore. My day job is unbelievably depressing, it offers no creative stimulation.
Lately I have been feeling more confident with my writing and the urge to write is overriding all the walls I put in place to stop my inner monologue. After college I couldn't write, I didn't want to because everything that came out was so sad.
Now I feel like I have matured enough to make fun of my life and my experiences. And my job is stifling me from really owning that.
I had a really crap weekend. All my plans fell through, not that they were at all solid and I had a lot of time to think about my position. Living back at home has been trying; it reminds me of all the shit my family put me through and I HATE being stuck in this position. Anyway, on Saturday I was cleaning the house; my mom came over to spend some time with me.
Nothing in my house actually ever works. The vacuum simply refused to switch on, even though it is only a few months old and the brand new laanie mop tore. I recovered the ancient vacuum from the garage which was in somewhat working order and attempted to clean the rest of the lounge, right towards the end of this task the back of the vacuum which traps all the dust and dirt, shot out and expelled everything I had just sucked up.
I went befuck to say the least. The vacuum is now in about nine pieces. I went so mal I destroyed it. My mom started to cry while I went Hulk on the machine. Five minutes later I was feeling much better. But not for long. So much anger manifests itself in you without you realising how angry you are, you just feel depressed all the time.
This horrible feeling has permeated my mind. I am hopeless for ideas on how to continue with my life right now, even though I am sure there are many out there that I cannot see right now.
All I want to do is write stories and blog posts and write stories for woman and write stories about being a woman and write stories for all the troubled people out there who feel just as lost and undone as me. But who will read them or print them?