2005-01-30 - 11:27 p.m.
Why the hell am I writing this so late? I'm tired and cold and desperately want to get back into the book I'm reading, but my fingers are leading me here to do this. What's the deal guys?
I just watched a very sobering movie called "John Q". It was a good concept of a storyline but it sort of got silly towards the end. I hate when that happens in movies. So now I'm here, desperately lonely and have no one to talk to. Everyone's in bed and I don't think I really want to vent my problems to anyone in this household anyways.
I don't really have problems as such...more likely worries. Concerns. About what I'm doing with myself, why I feel the way I do, where the hell I'm going and am I even TRYING to get there anymore? If you watched a film of my life over the past three or so years it would just be one great re-playing scene of jobs, loneliness, love so great it hurts and a very significant sense of non-accomplishment. What little friends I have left are out there doing something with their lives (no matter how hard they try to deny it) and I shouldn't complain, I could go to University if I really wanted to. And sometimes I do, sometimes I really want to strut into a journalism lecture so badly, pour my current events heart out on paper and be noticed by the lecturer for such talent and passion.
And then there are days when I think back to school and how much I detested it. The deadlines, the pressure, the teachers thinking they reign supreme, the cliques of groups assessing you from day one...even if STAC was heaven in a school, it was still school, which might as well be in my personal thesaurus under "hell". I know in my heart of hearts I could go far with this writing thing. At the moment I am getting new ideas in my head every day, not just for stories but for articles I could write. I even thought of something for a magazine like Cosmo. A monthly section called "Opening Your Eyes" where real life stories and situations are replayed by normal, everyday and possibly anonymous women. I mean sure, they have the odd "I was addicted to Heroin" feature but it never seems to get in amongst the sex tips to blow his socks off or whatever.
Not that I'm complaining, I thank heaven for Cosmo when I'm going down on David. But I digress (and disgust, I'm sure).
When I got my letter to the editor published in the paper a lot of people immediately asked if I was going to pursue this ideal and easy-for-me career path. And it got me thinking that yes, I could do it on my ear, I could ace my way through Uni because I'm so passionate about the English language and all it has to offer.
So what's stopping me?
I honestly don't know what's gotten into me. I know one huge thing is the every day absence of David in my life, but that was all me, he never asked for any of this, I did. And I really try and tell myself that it's actually somewhat better, that the distance makes me appreciate him more which is partly true...but it also makes me so so sooo lonely that no amount of his loving words can rectify it. Only his physical being, his face and eyes and voice, his hand trailing down my cheek as he tells me over and over how beautiful I am, me staring at him in awe, wondering what a guy like him ever saw in me.
In one week exactly I will no doubt be fallin into his arms in his room in Wellington, kissing him all over, repeating how much I love him. But all day in the back of my mind I've had that horrible vision of leaving him at the airport, which obviously is inevitable. I hate it. I hate watching him fade away from me. I hate wondering when I'll see him again and knowing how miserable I'm going to be without him.
Okay I think I've rambled enough for tonight, even if it is somewhat unfinished. I actually feel a little better somewhat. This is why I love writing, you can do so many things with it without realising until you see the finished result. All I can hope is that I sort myself out before it's too late.
