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Uncertainty is my owner.

Right now, I feel like I'm running around trying to do all kindsa things I think I want to do and think I need to do, while unsure what I actually want or need. It ends up a noncommital mess of half-assery instead of any of the useful things I'd wanted in the first place.

Of course, I'm exaggerating, somewhat. In reality, the bulk of it is confined to looking for jobs, considering school, and weighing moving out. And it's the how's and when's, as well as the which and which nots. Do I really want to saddle up the responsibility of going back to school right after starting a a new job? Is moving out of my parents' basement with its marginal rent and into a real place with real rent at the same time as incurring more student loan debt really that good of a plan? But these are things that, if artificially, would move my life forward. And it's felt ungratifyingly stuck in one place for much too long--my patience is running out, which is probably the worst factor of all here.

Additionally, I want to pursue more personally fulfilling, interesting things. I really want to get serious about my writing. I want to go out and be more social. I want to explore the city around me. Go on dates and stuff. But, most of the time, I feel trapped somewhere along the commute to work with pitstops at the gym and food court.

A few months ago, a friend interrupted some ramble of mine to tease, "I don't know what you need. I feel like I wanna help, but I don't know what you need." Too true. Too goddamned true. My sponsor--having evidently picked up on this, too--assigned me to mediate on the question, "What do I need to be whole and fulfilled?" I'm not sure if it's actually a trick question--like "psych! it's self-worth!"--or if I'm actually stumped, but this goes to the core of what I'm struggling with these days.

And the result, of course, is that my first blog post in months is whiney and emo and angstsome--yet again. I'm not sure things are really as bad as I make them sound--it's a talent of mine, making things sound much worse than they probably are through worry and wordplay--but I am definitely confused. I feel like things might actually be shifting about, behind the scenes, under the surface, and it's just hard to see those changes or point to them decisively. Like I've started making notes on my phone  about bits of poetry or ideas for things to write. I'm looking around at jobs instead of simply sitting on my ass and dreaming about them. I've had several serious talks with my potential/probable roommate about locations and rents and third roommates. But besides feeling unsure, I'm worried I'm rushing myself into too many things at once. Or not moving enough at all. Or both.

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Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
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