Posts Tagged ‘frightened’

So, not long after my last post, I managed to destroy my laptop. You wouldn’t believe what I did. I accidentally kicked the damn thing off of my ottoman and, though I caught it before it bounced really hard, it did hit somewhat heavily on the end of the power cord. I think that knocked something in the hard drive loose, because, a few moments after I sat it back onto my little desk, it failed miserably. We’ve had our repaired laptop back for a few weeks, but I haven’t been in a blogging mood. I haven’t been in any kind of mood really.

I think I’ve given up completely on trying to keep any creative outlet. Writing is no longer a pleasure. It’s more of something that I do, because I feel like I have to do it. I want to enjoy writing again, but I think there’s just too much going on in my real life to try to write any kind of drama in a pretend world, no matter how badly I need to do it.

My husband’s job is closing down in May.

I’ll give you a moment to digest that.

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I find that my happiness is based less on who I am and more on who I was. As I get further from the past I feel dissatisfied with my future.

My future is full of love and laughter but I dread it every step of the way. As the things I treasure spiral into oblivion I feel crushed.

Anxiety about my future cripples me. “Cold feet,” I suppose. I’m not where I thought I would be. I’m in a better place.

I made these tweets this morning and I could have gone on, but I decided to use my blog before I got ready to get my windshield replaced. I’ve come to the realization that my life is nowhere near what I thought it would be. Then again, I didn’t necessarily have very high hopes for my own future. I never saw myself as a writer. I never saw myself as married. I knew I wasn’t going to have children. Hell, I’m surprised I even finished college. You could say that my expectations for my own life weren’t very high.

As I think about my life now, I realize that my expectations haven’t risen much. My anxiety, on the other hand, has multiplied. Part of me feels as if it’s leftover from the traumas that I’ve happened to experience through random happenstance. My anxiety has caused me to separate myself from all the things I love. I withdraw from others and find excuses, reasonable and logical excuses, to exclude myself. I feel lonely even though I’m not alone anymore. I don’t pretend to understand it either.

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One of the blogs I follow linked to an Online Plot Generator and I’m considering using it once a week to try to get some creative energy flowing. The plots it generates are extremely vague, but just enough to generate a tiny idea in my brain. I read one and instantly had an idea for something. Had it not been for the fact that I was fixing to cook dinner then I would have sat down and written something for it.

Dinner last night was excellent, by the way. We managed to pick up some pork steaks when we went grocery shopping and I fried a couple of those for my man. I haven’t had pork in a while, because our budget was so tight. We were able to be a little splurgier on some of the meat this time, because the bills are all paid. It was well worth it. I baked a couple of them so they’re going to be my lunch today while my man is at work. Now I just have to finish the dishes. Bleh.

The wedding is looming. My mother is wanting to finalize some details this week and my whole body is just against that idea. I don’t want to do it. It’s too much trouble and too scary for me. I’m really starting to feel the pressure and, honestly, it shouldn’t feel like pressure. We’re going to be married and it’s going to be a good thing. I’m just one of those people who are scarred by their past and too scared that things might go back to that. I know I shouldn’t be afraid with such a nice man in my life, but you can’t help that sometimes.

Because of my own inability to get organized, I recently drafted my mother as my wedding planner. I have no clue what I’m doing. They say that every little girl plans their wedding day, but clearly “they” did not understand that I’m a science dork that cared more for learning and sports than I ever cared about my wedding day. I never really saw myself getting married. My dad asked me Tuesday about marriage and I said that, “It seemed like a good idea.” For the most part, it still does. I see myself spending a very long time with my man and so why shouldn’t we be married?

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Have you ever wanted to do something with all your heart, but know for a fact that it would scare the shit out of you while doing it? That’s how I feel about going to Japan.

All my life, I’ve wanted to go to Asia, particularly Japan, and see the sights there. Everything about Asia is so awesome to me. I’ve always wondered if, maybe, one of my past lives was from there. Yeah, I believe in past lives. It’s a little weird, but it’s the only way for me to explain how I can feel so drawn to the things I’m drawn toward. This morning, I’ve been watching a show about the historic innovations of Japan (Science Channel nerd) and all it has done is made me want to go there even more. This, on top of fact that my man told me he’s wanted to go there forever, has got me scheming a little bit.

The scheme is this. If I can save up around $5,000, I should be able to plan a trip for myself and my man to Japan by our fifth anniversary. This means I’m going to have to start tucking away even more money than I am now. I’m going to have to find ways to cut money out of my bills and get myself motivated to do it. It scares the shit out of me, but I really want to do it. I want to experience adventure with my man like he always does when he goes off on his own.

The best advice I’ve received about my writing, so far, was given to me by a random person that I had never spoken to before. How they found my short blurb announcing to the world that I was giving up, I can’t say for sure, but I’ve thought about it off and on for a little while and realize that they are probably correct.

Do you write for the pleasure of it? Nothing should take it away from you if that be the case. Perhaps instead of writing for others to thread with you, write for yourself.

I don’t remember the last time I wrote for myself rather than for the amusement of others. I think that’s always been what’s on my mind when I do write. I’ve also had a struggle within myself about my writing. I want to tell a story that I love and share it with others, but part of me wants no one to ever read what I write for fear that they’ll criticize it. Criticism would only help me expand my writing and make it better, but I don’t like criticism. Criticism just discourages me and makes me not want to try again and that’s in all aspects of my life. Criticize any of my work and I no longer wish to do whatever it was that you were critical about. I suppose you could call me overly-sensitive.

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I’ve been on vacation for three days already and that makes me sad.

I’m sad, because most of what I’ve done for the past three days is sleep and do nothing constructive. I did manage to put my closet together and get everything out of the floor. I’ve set my shoes out and put my suitcases on the top shelf of the big closet. I’m feeling slightly more at home in my own home now. It’s a good thing. Still looking around at the stuff in the spare room and trying to figure out where it will all go. I’ve got some family photos that I want to set out, but I’m not sure where I can set them. I kind of think that we need another table in the bedroom or some shelves in the living room so that I can put my family photos up. It’s a space issue really. A second bedroom nightstand would possibly be the easiest fix for it really. That’s what I’m leaning toward.

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