I'll Try Being Serious, Maybe

I should clean my room. I still can't stand much more light than a candle or the window, so I can't really see how disorganized everything is, but I know it can't be great.

It's not awful either, per say, but I look at those white-clean spaces with nothing but a bed and a desk and I can't help but feel this weird sort of envy for the person who has a life simple enough to deal with all that.

I've kind of played around with the idea of purging this room of everything unnecessary. I could sell off every little thing I don't need in the life-or-death way, build up a little fund, and become the pinnacle of productivity. Futon on the floor, laptop on the desk. That wouldn't be bad at all.

I could start getting up at 4:30 like I used to. I could get ready in under thirty minutes and start actually working on things. That would be good, too. If I had some kind of goal, if I had some kind of direction, this would be the absolute right path. No more YouTube, Twitter, or Netflix. Just me, myself, this coffee, this keyboard.

Seems like a lot of work though.

The Up-and-Up

So, I'm just gonna go ahead and throw this out there:

nothing is shaking out like I thought it would.

Or maybe it is. Maybe I'm just at the brink. Life feels stagnant right now. School, work, reading whatever can make me feel something other than tired, repeat. I had a break for Thanksgiving from everything- that was kinda nice. But now it's Monday, and I was supposed to go to school, and instead I've been up for more than 24 hours and I feel like total shit and I don't really know why.

I'm trying out the whole writer-for-real thing. I should be getting a car soon. I have less than six months before I'm supposed to move five hours away. Everything is supposed to happen really soon and I get it's the whole angst-bullshit, but the only thing I can really care about is buying too many books at Goodwill next Saturday.

These are the times that I wished that mermaids and fortune tellers were real. My grades are slipping, I make less and less money every week, and I can't seem to make myself do the things I should be doing.

I must read off like an asshole. That's fine; I can see that I kind of am an asshole. And, honestly, I think I'm actually a little grateful that I'm all swirled up this way. 

Because I simply have to believe, see, need to know that I'm at that point where it's do it already or fall forever. And I really do think I'm just about there.

I could always start posting quotable little phrases on Tumblr until I'm loved and deep, or I could become a great card shark who loses a finger only every five years. Really, there's always some kind of next step, last chance, new plan that one could jump to when all else fails.

It'll be fine. Eventually, everything works out for everyone and the world is a happy place.

Or, at least, it's doable.

Me Me Me Me Me

I'm really not that interesting.

Brand-new adult, senior in high school, so supposedly self-obsessed that I can't discern my ass from a scholarship. Alright then, that's fine. There's plenty of whining girls to be found on the Internet. What the hell do I suppose is the edge in specifically my words?

See, that's the magical thing here. I absolutely don't think anything of anything here. This is the nearest I can get to rambling on the paper, and I'm going to have at it. I won't type and retype and delete and sigh and never keep this in draft for the rest of forever. It's out, and I genuinely don't mind.

So, me. So, blog. I'm not expecting to become some Buzzfeed-famous type or get a book deal. I'm not going to hyperlink some Amazon page or write anything you'd want to read. This is all me, putting down my fleeting days as a non-child-non-adult until they're really over (which, really, when is that ever? I see plenty of 30-year-olds bitch like their parents pay their car insurance).

Hi. There's a start. Hello, my name is Fuck-all. No, I probably should abstain from swearing here, right? This might be why I don't get a job in five years (or hi Mike! this could be why I lose mine today). I'll be polite best I know how. Hello, madam or sir or Xim or whatever, this is not intended for you.

And whom then? Me? Yep, duh, ab-sow-loot-lee. Should I share much more?

I live in the Sunshine State, I have curly hair that looks good until about 8 o'clock in the morning, creo que yo puedo hablar espanol pero mi grammatica esta horrible y lo se que necesito practicar mas, and I have no idea what the fuck is going on (whoops, there it is again!).

Now, how about you?