A Full Circle

I've been thinking for hours now about what it is I want. What do I want to do? I've never had any sort of idea. No dream, no ambition. I always had the feeling I could do good things, but not what those things were, and not that it was the most important thing of my life to do them. What is the most important thing of my life really? And what I'm studying is ok, but it's not like I really care about it.

Could I be an author? I think about it sometimes, but I have no idea how or where to start.

Thinking too much but getting nowhere. I wish I had ambition. Something to drive me to get across those obstacles that life and society presents, and that have this far detoured me from everything I've found mildly interesting. It's never been interesting enough to seem worth the effort.

People seem to be a key word. Things happen around people. Bars, cafés, workplaces, schools, theatres... people. I don't know where I'm going with this except that I don't really want that much to do with people, not like that. I don't know how or where to start with that either.

There's so much crap to sort through in the world, to find the little diamonds. And I've never had much patience that way. I'm very unforgiving like that. I try though. I do my best, but most of the time I run out of energy. It might not seem like much. It really isn't either. But I try, on and off.

I was thinking that you people shouldn't talk to me about what I write here. Post a comment by all means, but don't talk to me about it in real time. Because here, and not here, are two separate things. I stand by what I write here with all my heart... it's more like I don't stand by who I am out in the real world. I am the Writer here.

I think sometimes that if I just got a trash job to keep me floating, I could try this writing thing for real. But I get distracted, and I hate myself for it. I do everything but write these days. Except here, from time to time. And I don't trust myself to be able to keep a trash job. I have motivation problems. Self-control problems. Actually, I don't even trust myself to be able to get one. So there.

Anyway. Writing is what keeps me sane and alive. Would be nice to make some money off it, but, as with faith, it's good enough to just have it there to anchor me. A corner of the world where I'm safe. I wouldn't say no to making money off my faith either, really, but I really don't think there is any conceivable way to do that. Though the stress of having to make a living, do I really want to connect that to one of those safe corners? Scary.

It would be so ironic, so completely... dumb, if after all this running around, what I really want to do is what my mother told me the first time I asked her what I should do, and that I then turned down firmly. Being a journalist. Writing articles. I understand now that there are more types of journalists and writers of articles than tabloid people, but still. Although irony is only a human construct. So I guess in terms of nature and spirit it would be... a full circle.