None.

Just about every other person in this house is sleeping. Why is someone vacuuming? It's not even 9 AM. EVERYONE IS SLEEPING AND THAT VACUUM IS NOISY. 


Not to be rude, of course.


Actually, now it's disturbing my peace and I'm not happy about it.


Have I mentioned I'm so done with this place?

Blank Infinity.

What makes me get into this mood? It can't just be feeling as though I'm being treated like a kid. It can't just be that. 


Is it the frustration that I can't write? I almost want to doubt that because I DID write a little bit today. Not much, but my one piece is slowly getting better. That's an improvement, right?


Is it this house? Is it just living under this roof with these people? Is it the fact that as long as I'm in their house--as long as I can't get a job or make money of my own or convince him to move out--I will forever be viewed and treated as though I'm a kid? I can't even stand driving around with them. Is that why I'm like this? If that's the case, I will never ride in their car again.


Is it because he's still acting like the kid? Is it because he still hasn't gotten an internship and can't see the importance of actively seeking one out? I wish that his mom had been harder on him as a kid; now, he's still lackadaisical and neither of us can do anything about it. I just wish he would grow up... is that asking too much? 


I hate complaining, but if I don't get it out somewhere, it will just devour me. 


I'm sad. I'm depressed. And I want it to go away. I want something more. I want a job--a good job and a decent paying job. I don't know why I don't get contacted back and I don't know how to make people call me back. Too often, I cannot call them--whether they specifically say do not call or there is just no contact information, I'm just... stuck. I'm always applying. No one can tell me I'm not trying. I'm going to go for more government jobs. Maybe if I can work my way through there a bit, I can work towards getting to grad school in Scotland. 


Maybe.


I'm going to try to stay positive.


But at the very least, no one can say I'm not trying.

Save Yourself: Part Two.

It's this house. I know that's what it is. It zaps everything out of me and robs me of my creativity. Whenever I'm here, I feel trapped and drained. I can't take this house much longer. I want my life back. I want my creativity back.


I want my words back. I want my imaginary friends to talk to me again like they did in Ireland. All the ideas they shared with me--bringing me back to their world and revealing the story to me. They don't commune with me here like they did in Ireland. My characters open up to me more when I'm by myself or somewhere out in the open. When I'm not trapped, they're not trapped. I need space. My own space.

Save Yourself.

I feel like I'm losing my ability to just sit down and write. 


I can't remember the last time I did that. Just lost myself in words and story for hours at a time. 


I want it back.

Vigil.

I'm going through that phase again. Or at least that thought process again.


Why do I keep writing? Why do I insist upon finishing this novel? It's not halfway done yet, there's so much that needs to be redone, the plot probably sounds cheesy and cliche. Will anyone even read it? Will anyone even care? 


There are thousands of people out there writing novels--all with the intent of getting published. I can name a dozen offhand, a few people I'm friends with. What makes me think my novel is any better than theirs? What makes me think that--while surrounded by all these other creative writers--that I have any sort of chance to make it? It's not as though my writing is anything special compared to theirs, I'm sure.


I hate being in this mindset. This blows.

.Teeth.

Nephilim. Why haven't they thought of it yet? How perfectly unique. How uniquely perfect. 


And yet it won't be thought of. All other angles will be met except decent ones. 


Have I mentioned how tired I am of obstacles?

Why?

Why can't you just grow up?


Why can't you just take initiative and do something?


Why can't you just do as I ask instead of just being lazy and ignoring it?


99 days.

I'm reaching my boiling point.


Then again.


We all know I'll never boil over.

Nymphetamine.

I've been feeling like I need to scream all day. Just scream and yell and howl until my lungs burn. 


I hate having to hold everything back. I hate having to put up this shield everyday and cover myself so no one sees how lost and miserable I am.


I just want to be happy. As cheesy and cliche as that sounds, that's all I want. I want to move, to laugh and to write. I'm so tired of this stationary feeling. I'm tired of living for someone else. 


I want to find home. I want my own place just for me--where I can feel safe and secure. I need open space to find and create myself. I need something more than what's in my grasp right now. I need something that will make me happy.


You would think happiness is as simple as being happy. 


Lilac smells divine. Wherever I end up, I'll plant some right outside my window. 

I can't follow Hyperbole and a Half! 


I'm sad now...

First Post?

So... I don't know if I'll ever use this, but I wanted a Blogspot to follow a few blogs I found interesting.


I feel like such a noob at this. Guess I'll personalize it and make it feel more like home.