Alive or Just Breathing

Guess it is my turn to reach out to you, so here goes...

This early morn was spent contemplating and wondering. Eyes wide, staring at alabaster walls, curled up in sheets and blankets safe from chill and wet reminiscent of PacificNorthWest life. Numerous questions I simultaneously long to know and never care to hear answered race through my mind. I debated asking a few for clarity, but decided it is not prudent at this juncture.
No closer to a job discovery am I despite several leads. Teaching keeps coming to the forefront of career choices, but commitment seems daunting. Perhaps a year overseas teaching first? God only knows.

The cathartic creative outlet in the form of music with one band has become burdensome in multiple forms. I’m ready to abandon this particular group and start something I can truly be passionate about. Try my hand as frontman/singer/screamer if permitted. My lyricism needs work, but writing everyday seems to help.

Still ridiculously pitiful at meeting new people. Lack of notebook/female genitalia and distaste of coffee/tobacco may be my downfall. No work, church, or school. Love of tea and a journal for writing at a chosen daily locale may be in my future, but funds prohibit such an extravagant daily expense for now. When placed in social situations, my wallflower tendencies and awkwardness shine through. I find most people intolerable and fake. Too _____ or not _____ enough. My true downfall it seems…

Joel has a gf a block away, so I rarely see him anymore. They are actually going to the Marfa film festival in April. I wish him the best and happiness for both, but selfishly want a buddy. Like Jimmy. Like Kyle. I’ve holed up in the apartment primarily for monetary reasons, which makes me a bit of a hermit and may also be driving Joel away. IDK.

The majority of this purge and wonder stems from a future trip to Waco this Sunday for a reunion, of sorts, with pre-2005 friends and foes. I long for the time in Waco when things were so much easier/joyous/fulfilling. Checking Facebook obsessively does not deter such reflections either. Nostalgia. Senior year really was wonderful, drama and all. Perhaps that was the best year or my life? I hope not.

This comes across as a pity party with an overwhelming theme of uncertainty it seems. All written with no desire for response (and I suspect you won’t). I just feel there is no other to tell. Simply typing and sending is enough. To know someone who understands me better than the average individual will read and interpret these lines and empathize, even just a little. That you’ll maybe reach out or, at the very least, alter your mindset for a few minutes and ponder how I do.