Mouth Piece

Hey all or mostly no one,

Anytime I've been away too long I start to feel really bad that I'm neglecting this space. I feel bad on a few levels, but most prevalently on a writerly level because a blog is supposed to be a writer's way of "reaching out digitally" and "using social media to market oneself" yadda, yadda. And I suppose that I could do a lot of shameless plugging on lots of other sites that I lurk about at times, but I will admit that the scared, awkward little teenager in me is afraid of the attention, and selfishly wants to keep this space for herself. Go figure--(you know...'cause it's on the internet and stuff -_-)

Quick anecdote: when I was a scared, awkward teen in high school, I kept a journal that I was so sure was going to be some kind of road map to my life if I died. Never mind that I had a fascination with death while I was a teen (and not in an emo-y goth-y romantic way, so draw your own conclusions there) but I felt that in detailing my most intimate and whiny thoughts I was creating a kind of scrapbook that people would read when I was gone. They would read it and go "gee, she sure was something, wasn't she? A real visionary, a real literary artiste! Why oh why she did have to die so young!" and then you know...I would be mourned and revered and maybe get my journal published because, yeah.

Major teenage arrogance there, I know, but cut me some slack. I was painfully lonely, painfully awkward, and, you know, writing was my anti-drug. Plus, when you're a teen you're convinced that the world gives a shit about you in this big epic way, and it's not until you're older and have been REALLY shat upon, do you finally realize in solemn and grim contemplation that, no, the world really DOESN'T give a shit about you and there's absolutely nothing you can do about it.

Anyway. I'm feeling like there's a really grim and solemn cow plop of shit sitting on my face, and it's only fair to say that I had some hand in slapping it there. Here we go again: another semester almost over, another year gone by, a little older, and I'm still looking at not going back to school again.

My mom said, like after my freshmen year: "Is this going to be an issue every year of college?" and I was like--no, 'cause I'm going to look for anything I need to supplant my tuition costs and stop worrying mom, 'cause I'm like going to be famous writer like JK Rowling and make tons of money have theme parts that serve fictional beverages from story, so nahhhhh!" And yep. Shit on my face. She was completely right. My mother was completely right and just saying that makes me want to die inside.

I guess I should have known better, but I'm stubborn in my own quiet way and I just plain don't want to leave the lovely city. I love it there, love everything about it's gritty mechanical noisiness and rude, fast-paced love em' or leave em' lifestyle and I want to embrace it like a coating of deep fried chocolate and become one with the shit in the sewers and the grubby dollars in the hands of hobos. I don't want to leave. I don't want to go back home. I don't want to be a failure. I want to fight...but I guess I'm getting a little tired of fighting.

One thing about getting older (and if you're wondering--I'm really NOT that older. Seriously) but I'm not a kid anymore either. I'm a grown up, can drink legally and all that, and I'm just beginning to get a bit wiser too, albeit in a rather painful regretful way. I don't want to leave my home away from home, but maybe I will this time. Maybe I won't make it. Maybe I need to be gone...right?

I don't know. I'm just not liking this shitty cowpatty pancake on my face. It doesn't smell so good.