What I choose to do is of no concern to you and your friends.

Where I lay my head may not be my home, but I will last on my own.
'Cause it's me and my life.
It's my life.


I interviewed today to be a photographer with Olan Mills.
Although it's closer to what I want to do than working at the Chamber, it made me realize how far off my course I've taken myself and it makes me wonder how many of us live wasted lives with real passion buried somewhere inside.

The interview went well, aside from my moments of hesitation at the questions, "Do you like children?" and "Do you like to drive?"
I lied, but I almost wish I hadn't.

I'd earn three dollars per hour less than I'm currently making, but mostly I worry about it being full time.
I was getting ready to take my mom's suggestion and turn one of my two new screenplay ideas into a novel first. She thinks that once I'm published, it might be easier to get a screenplay deal and she's right.
But when will I have time to write?

People never turn out the way you imagine they will.
Why should I be any different?

My dreams swept into the dustbin, and me along with them…

I got a job.

Lately I find myself crying over nothing and I can’t stop.
I know it’s just depression.
My mom suggested I take something for it.
At three different points in my life I’ve taken anti-depressants because of problems with anxiety.
Sure, I’m a naturally sullen person, but that didn’t change while I was on them.
Each time, I talked like a flapper on a duck’s ass…even more so than usual.
I couldn’t sleep.
And I experienced more suicidal thoughts.
I don’t think it’s wise for me to go down that road again.
And as taking pills won’t change where I am in my life, it’s not as if pain would go away by my taking them.

I know that losing Chloe is part of it.
Residual pain of feeling useless from not having a job is part of it.
But it is now accompanied by a new pain of feeling like a failure, a feeling that this will be my life, a feeling that I will live, die…and my name will be forgotten.
I can write while I work to be sure, but it’s the acting and singing part which causes me pain.
I want to perform.
I’ve always wanted to perform.
I want to write indie dramas which would make people examine the human condition…their own lives.
And I want to act in them.

But the older I get, the harder it’ll be for this to happen.
I’ll only be 23 next month and I feel like…that’s it.
It’s too late.

I have to keep this job because no one in my life believes in me and I would never ask that anyone else be forced to support me in my pursuits.
I don’t ask and no one answers.
And if I did, no one would answer.

I am lost.
Not in the way that so many others are lost…for I know where I want to go.
I’m lost because I can’t find how to get there.
I’m lost because this love is as important as any other and I live without it.
Shall I abide in this dull world which in its absence is no better than a sty?