Skip to main content

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.

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Or just tell me what you think.

Other things that might interest you...

On aging, and fear.

To begin with, I’m not sure you’re aware of it, but I’m middle aged. Oh? What gave it away? Using a blog as my primary literary medium?¹ Hm. But in fact, the APA defines 35 years as the end of “young adulthood.” Yeah. I found out via some shitpost on twitter when I was already 35, so it didn’t sit well with me then either. But my worries about aging began much sooner than that. See, even in my 20s, I feared I’d been wasting my life. I’d struggled with school and life and everything since graduating high school, arguably sooner, and nothing seemed to be going anywhere meaningful . I felt I had a limited social life, a dead-end job, no money, no great travels, a limping love life; I was, generally, a loser, wasting away... There were none of the usual hallmarks of success or happiness. And that scared me. Would my life have been worth it if I continued in this direction? Would it have been a “life well lived” by the end? So, this is my existential struggle. Even now, as I lurch ever nea...
Post a Comment
Read more

Changing lanes.

I was driving home in some traffic last night when I drifted, in my mind, a long way back (about 20 years) to high school. I was caught in one of those periodic traffic slowdowns as I floated back; you know, those waves of congestion that seem to pass backward through the columns of cars in each lane. (I've heard they start because someone switches lanes, and in response, a rippling emergent slowness travels backward and outward as the cars behind it accommodate the change, one by one.) What drew me back to those younger days was that, back in high school, similar phenomena of congestion took place in the halls between classes, when eddies of young humans would get caught in and around those clumps of those chatting by lockers or retrieving books. Occasionally, backups would occur when groups of people got caught in these eddies, or collided with other groups by the lockers, and slowdowns would ripple back from there. Maybe it's not exactly the same, but as I drove it seemed si...
Post a Comment
Read more

Oatmeal is tasty.

{slurps up berry-oatmeal-deliciousness} Indeed. I need to work on rebuilding a morning schedule. I can be zombie-like enough that I'll waste a perfectly good morning, and have often slept through many. And, really, it's such a useful time of day.
4 comments
Read more