For the Wanderers

     It will definitely become a habit to create these posts at 2 am.  My creativity emerges the best then.  What is awful is that millions of ideas go through my head the whole day and now I have forgotten all of them.

     As far as the blog, I have no idea where I am going with this.  I decided to try to keep a theme with each post.  I really don't know how well this is going to work out, considering I am scattered, but I decided that I should sum up my life first.

     I consider myself a wanderer.  My mind is never in one direct thought path.  My life isn't written down in schedules and calendars.  I mean, I try to do that, but who really follows those things.  This ties into my drastic procrastination habits.  I miss the days when i actually had the mentality to start studying a week before the test instead of midnight the night before.  I blame college for that.  I am an owl.  That could possibly be why I am so obsessed.

The BeatOwls

     I hope you enjoyed spontaneous owls.  Digression is my best friend.  What got me into this general thought path filled with thousands of branches (in a Morgan Freeman voice "like a tree, like a tree") was watching an Episode of Friends today.  The relationship between Ross and Rachel is just so precious I can't stand it.  Sure the pregnancy was accidental, but best friends can be perfect for each other.  But as my life has told me so far, that Hollywood crap is bullshit.  As well as paying $2.50 more and driving 23 minutes further than usual just to see The Perks of Being a Wallflower for the second time.  I want an undeniable love, but see, that's a totally different story that nobody wants to hear again.  I do manage to hug my pillow at night so by definition I am lonely.  Well, I practically molest my pillow, so what does that mean for me?  I would absolutely love to rant about how I am desperate at only 18, but again, no one wants to hear it.
     I am a wanderer.  I am just shoveling my paths and sweeping it away as I backtrack.  College is the setting for this lovely metaphor.  As far as even picking a college, I didn't give myself much of an option.  I applied to 2 schools, one in which I never was planning on attending even with my scholarship.  Trying to pick a career path was Hell.  I settled on communications.  One choice I think that I actually did okay on.  I keep revisiting one in my head, but haven't dared to tell people.  I bring myself down too much to imagine being a successful person.  I think I finally have an answer for what my dream job would be.  Ellen.  That is it.  I want to be one of her producers.  I have never been so excited for something when I think about it.  If you somehow found this unknown blog and know me, now you know.

Here we go.

     I am a wanderer because I always feel lost.  I turn to wallowing in depression instead of seeking any source of guidance.  I don't like others to make me feel small.  I like to try to handle things on my own just to feel the satisfaction.
     So as the title implies, this is for you.  This just scratches the thin surface of my thoughts on the matter, but otherwise we would be here all night.  This is for you to know that there is always possibilities.  Disney is right.  You just gotta believe.  They have a point and I swear by it.  I don't have a better way of putting it other than this is to show that you're not alone.  I never think that I'm doing the right thing.  I am honestly telling you, I have those feelings every day.  I don't think a TV production path is plausible to me.  Just freaking try.  As for finding the love of your life, good luck.  I'm still on the thoughts of being forever alone.

That's one thing you should know about me, people resent me for my negative attitude.  I'm trying to turn it around with this blog.

It's a questionable question.  Where are you going in life?
Hell if I know.

A Test of Your Devotion

     I can’t even remember the last time I wrote something for fun. Even though writing is one of my favorite things ever. I’m not going to sit here on my futon in my dorm room and write the great American novel. Far from it. If I still have your attention, then claps to you. You are now reading a totally pointless article about words that just flow out of my fingers.
     One day, I will write something life changing. I swear by it. One day a random person will compliment my article and be enthusiastic instead of the awkward “I like your article” No you didn't. The sad thing is, any of my writing that has ever been published has fallen under the category of mediocre. In fact, I feel like this article although pointless and with lack of passion, has the same tone as if I we’re to write about a great tragedy. It’s my sarcasm. I do not apologize for it. This is why I would never survive in Syracuse or some great journalism school. I constantly make fun of my own writing within my writing. I never am proud of what I write. I just enjoy doing it. In fact, everything I do that I love, I pretty much suck at. I absolutely can’t stand when people try to convince me otherwise. Dude, I am not looking for sympathy. I am making you aware that I know I suck so that later when you go home you will feel less obligated to talk shit about my suckiness. Yeah…
     You would think that every college freshman, even only at the age of 17 would have found some part of their calling in high school. I feel like a bunny rabbit. Walking around on my own. Just trying to survive and do what I believe I’m supposed to do. I’m shy. I can be eccentric. I enjoy my own company and others me. But I never make an impact. Sure, people let me know on a daily basis how much I mean to them, but I always look right past those words that anyone could compose through a text message. I never actually feel the love. I just float down the river, and if you need my help I’ll be there. That is that. People tell me I’m funny. Those people really need some help. I’m probably the most annoying person I have ever met. Again, no sympathy. I laugh at myself whenever I say that, but it’s the truth. It is what I believe.
     So I have danced since I was 3 years old. I absolutely love doing it. But see, I have double D breasts, feel like I look like an idiot, and have no means of motivation to improve. Wanting is not enough. I purely suck. A person saying “well, I could never do that” is not a compliment! No shit. I've only been working on those splits since toddlerhood and only hit the floor when the adrenaline of being on stage hits me. I don’t go around flaunting that I’m amazing and going to the 2016 Olympics cough cough. But there are those people that I do admire. I have idols for what I want to.
     I write. Everyone (which is most people) that can write better than me, I am whole-heartedly jealous. I want to possess what they have. Sometimes I do think it’s pretty damn unfair that they’re good at what I love to do. At the same time I don’t really care. I always think I will just automatically improve but I forget that you have to work for improvement.
Still with me?
Okay.