here i am again, plus one new job, minus a prescription for my crazy pills. I gave up my job. I didn't pre-plan it, just did it one day when I decided I'd had enough. Then, I got another one. And that's why I'm writing. I drive an hour each way to write about...something I'm not crazy about. I don't know what i'm doing. I'm scared I'm making a fool of myself, I just want to stop.

Like, forget it, I don't want to work anymore. I don't want to write. I can't because it's hard. And I'm winey.

I hate myself and my stupid brain. Why isn't it satisfied and why am I so lazy?

what have I been feeling:
I have been feeling...ok. That is, I think I'm coming to terms with the whole life thing. I mean, things will never ever be perfect and that's ok. I recently took a trip to St. Thomas which was probably the best vacation I've ever had, and still, that wasn't perfect. Which is fine. During the parts that sucked, I just said to myself 'This will be over, just like everything. Just bear it and probably something more fun will happen next.' And sure enough, it was, and it did and everything was lovely.

Also, I'm learning to get over hatred of my own voice (well, my writing voice). I'm not going to stop writing just because an asshole lives in my brain.

Adding to my zeniness, two people I know died after suffering for some time. People die. Life is 'whatever' and then it's done. There are good things, there are bad things, there are horrible things, and then....something. The end?

yes, the end.

I've been thinking a lot lately about courage and strength. I've been thinking about people who's courage I admire and I've been thinking just how much I might have in my own personal stores. Sometimes, it's good for me to borrow a bit of another person's resiliance in the midst of their own challenges. Sometimes I have to remind myself that if I just keep moving, the simple act of holding my head up and keeping it up is enough. Maybe that's what courage is. The willpower to keep trying.

In a random burst of daring, I took myself out last night.

I dressed up in my most favorite going out shoes (and, you know, some clothes) and took myself to a nice bar where I had one-and-a-half drinks and some crab dip.

And it wasn't bad. But it was weird.

I need to do more things like that. I need to keep pushing my boundries, making my world as big and rich as I can.

This morning, I woke up in a better mood than I did the morning before. I can't help but think it was my little bit of something different that caused that.

Isn't it just like life that the second I'm feeling good, the second I'm feeling centered, *woosh!* things change again.

I feel as though I won't make it, but I know I will because I have to.

This is the time where I should be taking my head out of my ass. This is the time where I need to be keeping myself busy. This is the time where I'm supposed to be reminding myself that everyone has problems.

I know that.

But I'm so tired of living in the space where I am. I want something to hold on to. I want something to make me happy and satisfied. How do I get to that?

I have always known I wanted to be a writer. I've always been a writer through and through. But why can't I write? I need a creative boost. I need a kick in the head.

Today I pretended that my on-vacation life is my real life. What if I didn't have to go to my soul-crushing brain-numbing job? What if I got to get up, watch Golden Girls and pick my nose for a couple of hours? What would I want to do when all the boogers were gone? The only answer I could come up with is that I'd like to be creative and I'd like to write.

Then the doubting thoughts come. Maybe I'm not good at writing? Maybe I'm no good at anything creative at all? But, ah fuck it, I finally thought. Nobody got anywhere thinking those kind of thoughts, I thought. And anyhoo, whoever decided that lack of talent should stop any artist.

I'm reading this new book about worrying. Because I'd like to be a normal person one day. Anyway, this book says that I should focus on today and today only. What's in the past is done and the future's only a hope, the writer says. The thought of that is indeed reassuring and I felt my body relax a little when I read it. Today has been about relaxing and calming and being by myself. Being alone can be a little intimidating becaue then I'm stuck with my crazy brain and all it's neuroticisms and worries, but today it's been about no expectations and doing what I can. I took a brief, hot walk which was nice I guess. I read a book and right now, I'm doing some laundry. All in all, I've been pretty content with myself.

What in the holy hell is happening to me?

That's what I'm asking myself when I'm not curled up in fetal position or trying to imitate a normal person. What the hell changed? what the hell is different? I've never been so uncomfortable in my own skin. I've never been so scared of life. I feel like I'm stuck in the before of my story and I don't want to make any mistakes that could effect the after. If I do, I reason, I'll be able to pinpoint exactly what went wrong; I'll know exactly what I shouldn't have done.

day 1

I have a week's worth of vacation coming up, with no money to spend on a trip and therefore oodles of time on my hands. And oodles of things on my brain.

My goal this week is to have no goals at all. Except this one: I'd like to write once a day.

I say this because I want to write, I want to do something all the time. But I dont do jack shit. I think maybe I have to invest something in this life of mine before I can get anything back. At any rate, I should be using this laptop for something besides porn.

Anyway, there it is. I've written today.

See you tomorrow.

You know how some people get adult acne? I think I'm experiencing adult puberty.

At least once a week I feel angsty and worthless and ugly. I feel stuck and helpless and when this feeling comes, no amount of journal writing, crying, ice cream, even (sigh)meds will make it go away. I just have to sit in it while it lasts.

The problem is, I think, dissatisfaction. I want to have something going on for myself. Sure, I do have a lovely supportive family, an awsome and cute boyfriend, and a way of making money (which I realize - is way more than most people could ask for) but I want to be good at something. I want to be passionate about something. I at least want to be advancing in my career, please.

Gah.

And as long as I'm feeling all teenagery, could I have no bills and some kind of a winter formal to be looking forward to? At the very least, could I get my mom to drive me to the mall?

Thank you for beauty. A beautiful weekend, beautiful writing, beautiful art.

Today I'm praying for bravery.

here's...um...something

maybe i have to give something up to get some peace
maybe i have to drop something so that my hands will be ready to accept
there are dreams we hold that float high above our heads like kites
there are hurts we hold that dig deeper every day
sometimes you have to give, up
to truly live.

I have things to be exited about! I am looking at the world in a different way. Things are beginning to open up and I'm eying up roads I was too scared to even think of traveling before.

There is so much for me to do, so much that still needs to be fixed, but I'm changing.

some things I'm thinking about:

1. I feel bad because I'm not doing what I'm supposed to do. I'm not contributing anything to the world. I'm not doing anything to change my job situation.

2. There is a bunch of hurt and anger that I have to deal with. I have to deal with it in a healthy way. This sadness is not hurting anybody but me, and it's not helping me better my situation.

3. I feel sorry for myself.

Taking Stock

One of the hallmarks of insecurity, I think, is the capacity to be knocked on your ass by just a few words.

Today I was reading another blog and the writer was talking about how she fought her way to become a young producer in a newsroom where most of the producers were much older. She wrote about how she's not at the place where, as a producer in New York city, she's blase' about working with the likes of Barbara Walters.

Sigh.

So I thought about me, and how it seems like I'm not even at the beginning of my struggle. Well, that's not entirely true. It's more like I'm stuck on a step. There is so much more I need to do. I have some talent; I'm an ok writer and an ok photogropher. But I know I need more developing. I need to figure out how to get it.

There is so much I'd like to accomplish in my life. I'd like to write and create art. I'd like to work in news. And, if we're gonna go all out, I'd like to have babies and get married to boot.

I need to learn how to sell myself, I need to get the self confidence to talk to people, I need to be the best writer I can be.

things have been so twisted, so absurd, so silly...that there is no more fairytale in our romance.
which sounds bad
but that leaves room for real happiness
which I prefer infinitely.

scared

I'm learning the difference between being afraid and being anxious. When I'm anxious, I am afraid of everything. When I'm anxious there's no floor beneath me and no security anywhere. When I'm anxious, my heart is broken and I don't know why. When I'm anxious, I'm scared and alone. When I'm anxious there is no such thing as reason.

I don't want to live in a life where anxiety can come out of nowhere and incapacitate me. I know it's a funky thing in my brain, and not something that I'm doing 'wrong.' I don't know how to get out of it.

I love you

Hello. It occured to me just now that perhaps you would be interested in knowing what I love.

What's that? You're not? There's no one reading?

Nevertheless, I'll soldier on.

1. I love to take pictures. I do. Even when I don't have a camera with me (I'm without the convenience of a digital camera, I'll catch an interesting scene and kind of hold it in my mind.

2. I love good food. I think this will take some work to explain. I'm a very picky eater, so I'm not one to try anything and everyting. But if something does fit within the parameters of what I'll eat, I'll savor it. Also, I've been skinny all my life. So I think I hold a special place in my heart for things that are deliciously greasy and bad for me. I think they'll give me the hips and boobs and booty I've always wanted.

3. I love to be by myself. That's when I have my best thoughts. And I can be as bitchy and weird as I want.

Frat Boy Magic

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Originally uploaded by lsnowden.1980.

New York City On St. Patty's Day = This times 100

There is happiness out there.. I can get to it.
That's all for now.
Thanks

right now

I've been thinking today about how short-sited I've been about my career. I've been looking at the space in front of me and not at the big picture. There really shouldn't be anything stopping me from being happy right now, in the place I am in right now. Everything in life is temporary. Nothing is promised but right now.

him

I don't want this to be a mistake, this love that I have.
I've been chasing it, then running away for the past year now, and I don't want to run anymore.I want to embrace the fact that I am allowed to be this happy, that I am allowed to grow and blossom into whoever I want to be. I want to really be this lucky, forever.

This is where I am:
In love - sometimes reluctantly so
living in a cute apartment
trying to drink eight glasses of water a day
wondering about my future
leaning on my parents in a completely different way
wanting to be a good writer
craving a cran and vodka
loving my ipod
not hurting today
immersed in the act of living

joy

I don't know if it's the spring in the air or the breakfast in my belly, but I feel good.

I don't have anything else to say really. Just wanted to put that out there to boost the number of non-woe-is-me posts on This Blog(tm).

Kisses!

I am hovering. Waiting.

This can't be who I am or who I'm supposed to be. There is no art here and I long for art. There's no happiness here for me.

I don't care about how well I perform and that hurts me and makes my mind feel dull. My eys are tired of watching the same thing all day long.

I feel trapped and angry. I have to calm down so I can find my way out.

There is more, I know.

Augh!!! What the Fuck??!! JKLAFJKSLKDKFJKDJKFKDK
Seriously.
I am not good at a lot of things.
I can't pay a fucking bill on time to save my life. I'm kind of emotionally retarded. My hair looks like shit sometimes.
But I know two things: a good [fucking] picture and how to write a simple [fucking] story.

So why is it that this fucking place is messing with my two fucking talents.

Jesus and Lordhavemercy.

petty, bitchy me

I'm wearing my unhappiness on the outside and i'm not wearing it well. What I mean is, I'm unhappy and it sucks and I'm being a huge bitch.

I think, maybe, I need to set some goals for myself. And what's the best thing about a goal? The reward! Right?

Anyway, maybe it could go like this: I will have a job by August. That gives me a good 6 months. In August, on August 1, 2006 => I will not only have a new job, but a fabulous article of clothing. This article of clothing must cost at least $250.

It's the shallow little things that make me happy.

i'm good at two kinds of writing: methodical and emotional.

Methodical writing is what pays the bills. Newswriting, at least the way I do it, is easy; who,what,when,where,why. My words are utilitarian. They get the point across without being slowed by bells and whistles.

Emotional writing is my word vomit. it's what i do when i can't take it anymore. It's for when the mopey 13-year-old in me wants to come out and have a pouty party.

But I want more than that. I can feel so much underneath the surface and it's hard for me to give those feelings voice. In my head, it sounds one way but once i put fingers to keyboard -word vomit. And i feel like a blubbering idiot.

The things that gives me hope are this site and my tenacousness. I don't want to let go of my desire to write well. I want to wrestle the thing until it's conquered.

I am At The End Of My Rope

This is what safe gets me.
I'm tired of asking questions. waiting. wanting.
The wanting is killing me the most. It's stopping me from being happy and it's making me sick.
sick.

I'm tired of my fear. It binds me and holds me down.
I want to walk out of here but I know I won't. I want to be eloquent and witty and endearing but i'm not.

I'm weird and needy and closed in and it's pissing me the fuck off.

I'm blocked. I know I am. I'm stopped up.
I can't say i'm constipated because it's like i haven't even shit...ever!
I'm so tired and so ready for somethingelse.

I'm so scared that I'll fail myself. I feel like I'm failing myself right now. I'm deeply unhappy and I'm agreeing to it by sitting here. I'm trying to craft my life around my unhappiness but my spirit won't have it. At least that much gives me hope.

God.
I feel like a 13-year-old with bills and bad credit. Wanting to hang with the cool kids.

There is a certain presence in my life that could possibly lead to me having a heart attack. or a break-down. Or...murdering someone*?

I won't name that presence because I like eating and sleeping indoors and such. But goddamn if that's not where the benefits end. I've been on this self-improvement kick for a while, but it's very hard to improve your outlook on anything when certain circumstances mean one is looking at someone's big, dumb head for eight hours a day. It's even harder when said big, dumb head is enjoying, well, more food and more indoor activity than you.

I am so fucking negative.

*Also? I'm not actually going to murder someone. Would not even consider it. In case that ever comes back to haunt me.

there is something about now, this time, that demands something of me.

quite frankly, it's getting on my damn nerves.

i feel like i want to write, want to create, then i sit down and it all feels like a homework assignment that's due tomorrow morning. It turns into something i have to do and not something i want to do.

i feel like right now, i am my biggest responsibility and i'm failing me big time.

I feel like it's never - don't ask me what 'it' is - going to come together for me. That I'm never going to make it come together for myself.

How do I get to being happy?

I would love to immerse myself in writing. I need something, someone, some catalyst to push me over the edge and in the right (write?) direction.