Thoughts on 06/18/11.
I have no idea what to write. Story of my life, really. Ever since high school, I always said I wanted to be a writer. Truthfully, though, I don't think I'm cut out for it. I constantly second guess anything I want to put into print, even if I'm the only one reading it.
Which, in this instance, is probably the case.
However, that fact notwithstanding, I sat and scrutinized over these past sentences for at least five minutes before I could type a damned thing. I decided that bourbon would help, and so here we are.
My life is a wreck. I'm twenty-four and have nothing to show for myself. I have a pseudo-managerial job at a restaurant I hate. I have no degrees at all. I can't let go of all the hurts that have been visited upon me, no matter how long ago. I'm horribly out of shape. I can't stand any girl that bothers to give me the time of day.
The only solace is that I have friends, some few people that make the world not worth destroying.
Anyway, I'm trying to fix it. I put in my notice at work. I'm applying for a community college. I'm moving. I'm (kind of) working out. I'm being as nice as I know how to the girl that actually treats me well.
I can't help but fear that this, once again, will be a failed attempt. That I can't handle another failure. That I'm going to blow what small amount of happiness I currently have just because I'm not contempt with my McLife.
Bleh. Even now, I grow disgusted with my own pathetic whining. "Waaah, I don't know what I want to do with my life! Waaah, I 'm worried about the future! Waaah, everyone else has a happiness that I don't!" Gaw. Get over it.
Fething whiner.
Which, in this instance, is probably the case.
However, that fact notwithstanding, I sat and scrutinized over these past sentences for at least five minutes before I could type a damned thing. I decided that bourbon would help, and so here we are.
My life is a wreck. I'm twenty-four and have nothing to show for myself. I have a pseudo-managerial job at a restaurant I hate. I have no degrees at all. I can't let go of all the hurts that have been visited upon me, no matter how long ago. I'm horribly out of shape. I can't stand any girl that bothers to give me the time of day.
The only solace is that I have friends, some few people that make the world not worth destroying.
Anyway, I'm trying to fix it. I put in my notice at work. I'm applying for a community college. I'm moving. I'm (kind of) working out. I'm being as nice as I know how to the girl that actually treats me well.
I can't help but fear that this, once again, will be a failed attempt. That I can't handle another failure. That I'm going to blow what small amount of happiness I currently have just because I'm not contempt with my McLife.
Bleh. Even now, I grow disgusted with my own pathetic whining. "Waaah, I don't know what I want to do with my life! Waaah, I 'm worried about the future! Waaah, everyone else has a happiness that I don't!" Gaw. Get over it.
Fething whiner.