(**I wrote this a couple of weeks ago.)
I’ve been thinking about so many things, I cannot concentrate on just one. My mind is racing, my anxiety is high – and combined with depression, it doesn’t feel very good at all. It increases the insomnia, which makes me irritable from not getting enough rest, and my appetite gets out of whack. All of this makes me unable to focus and think straight. My hormones are changing, making me feel stupid and weepy and like the stereotypical woman on her monthly. I think combining that with everything else – along with my strong convictions – makes me unapproachable. (Not that I want to be approached at this point anyway.)
Since it’s been raining and I haven’t been going out at all, I’ve been sitting outside on my back porch fighting the annoying bugs and listening to the rain on the tin roof… thinking about all of the bullshit – and at the same time trying not to. This rain is definitely increasing my depression. I need sunlight, and lots of it, in order to feel better – probably why I always liked summers more than any other season.
The rain is mesmerizing, a steady pulsing beat surrounding me. I can feel the uncomfortably hard PVC pipes through the thin cushion against my back and ass and legs. No wonder this set was so cheap on Craigslist. It fucking hurts, makes me squirm and switch positions constantly, like a kid in adult church.
I guess all of my friends are with their significant others or maybe out with friends and family. If I don’t take myself out, I guess the porch is my Friday night hangout… an extension of my home yet still outdoors. How I would love to have someone to share it with. Wishful thinking.
I know what I want to do for a living – something I have always loved and still do but don’t get paid. I want to write, but I’m not writing some stupid shit for $10 an hour for someone else to get rich with my talents. I want to get paid what I deserve. Writing is natural to me, instinctual, therapeutic, and seems to be the only “job” that truly that makes me happy. It’s something I’ve loved doing since I was in third or fourth grade and all through graduation. It’s something I continued doing after high school when I joined the army to become a photojournalist. I loved writing when I went to college; had a 4.0 in all of my English classes and tutored English to other college students. Taught writing as my first public and private teaching jobs. So why am I not getting paid to do it now? I have to figure this out, because it’s probably the only thing that I actually feel confident in despite being told by other people that my writing sucks, lol 😉 …
Not all writing is good. I know I’ve gone back to read things and think… ‘okay that was really boring,’ or ‘that could have been better.’ But with anything in life, once you go back and reanalyze the situation after more gained experience, it’s easier to forgive yourself and give constructive criticism.
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