goingnowherefast

I’m obsessed with second chances, do overs, and in general fresh starts. Maybe its just a quirk easily explained by the lack of permanence in my life. I’m 21 (and a half as of yesterday) years old. I’ve lived in different 6 states (and even more different cities). That’s nothing compared to some people I know, but still. Try explaining that to people who have lived in the same town all their lives. If you’ve never packed up your life and started over you just cant sympathize. It’s hard building new relationships with people. These things take time. And it seems just as I think I get it down, my life is turned on end again. Therefore, I’m obsessed. I get restless, I want change…to the extent I sabotage. I push away. That feeling, that second chance, that fresh start, that chance to reinvent. I find it next to impossible to complete anything. The excitement of starting over outweighs the finishing. The only thing I find joy in finishing is another book. But then its more the act of checking that off the list and starting on the next thing.

I never could write in a journal. Never been successful with the blogging either. I’d see the pages I had filled with thoughts and memories and the restlessness would kick in. Most of all, I wanted to believe I had changed. Everytime I started a new journal, or move to a new town. I’d look back on who I was and I’d think…I’m going to do things differently. I’ve learned from mistakes. But again and again. I hadn’t, I haven’t. Guess this is the part where I accept what I have and make the best of it. But frankly, I’m scared shitless. This is new ground. Acceptance. ha. Wouldn’t that be the mature, adult thing to do?

On the other hand, whenever I opened a new journal to fill it with my thoughts I’d look at the blank pages and think “don’t fuck this up” Often times, I’ve gotten in the habit of never writting on the first page. Even in school notebooks. It’s like nothing I could do would be good enough. Because everytime I opened it, there it would be. The sign I hadn’t changed. Nothing was different. It’s like changing your hair after you get out of a bad relationship. What’s outward apperances going to change? It’s the inside I need to convince.

That aside…books. My only love and only constant in my life. (The pathetic quality to that statement is not lost on me) Finished Frewin Jones’ The Faerie Path and have started book two The Lost Queen. I like the story. It’s sweet. It’s a feel good story. The characters are likeable. The plot isn’t to predictable. Tracy and I were talking (har de har, i know…when are we not.) and I’ve decided the reason I love Stephenie Meyer. At the base…its a simple story. With just enough dramatic plot lines and brillantly developed characters to make it great. My friend Allison was disturbed by the books. She saw it as this impossible love story. What’s thats saying to the rest of us? Most couples don’t have a bella/edward kind of love. Nothing’s as sweet as fiction. For those of you that do. I hate you. jk. but seriously, how long you think its going to last? (that came out overly bitter.) I’ve seen love. And I’ve seen basic tolerance between two people to inconvenienced to actually seperate and, god forbid, be happy. Guess you get used to the having someone. It’s hard being alone again. And I’ve seen people sort of between the two (I think this is the majority of those I know.) I like the happily ever afters. It’s like the universe is in order. If only it worked that way.

Speaking of feel good, happily ever afters…oh yes, I’ve discovered more paranormal romance. Kathy Love (that is sooo not her real name, rolls eyes) I just finished My Sister is a Werewolf which is every bit as awesome as it sounds. heartbubbles. I read it out of order because well I like female protagonist and frankly [rest of post cut off because internet cut out, ugh]

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