The Blue Period

I'm a little bit upset right now, and I have no way to properly vent it because the person (or maybe it's people) I'm upset with read this blog, and writing in a journal seems pointless because no one will ever see that. I know that makes no sense. I'm not trying to be pretentious and vague, I'm just confused and frustrated.

I didn't choose to want to be a writer. It's just the one thing that always comes the easiest to me, the one thing I feel I'm actually good at. So I get pretty protective of that part of my life, and when people tell me I'm not doing it right, I get pretty broken up about it. That's not to say I can't take constructive criticism. I'm getting pretty good at that. But when I get told that I'm not doing the right things to make this into a career, that just makes me pissed enough to run to the Canadian border without stopping. This is coming from a person who never passed the mile run in middle school gym class.

I wish I liked other peoples' kids enough to babysit them, instead of just making faces at them in the line at Whole Foods. Then I would at least have money. But I don't, and therefore I don't. I wish I didn't live in such a boring, white bread part of the country. But I do. This is what it is, and I have to live with it as I plan my exit strategy for next summer.

Of course, people don't seem to believe I can leave this town. But I will. I have to.

I don't even know if I want to publish this. But I feel like I should. Because I'm not all sarcastic comments and poetic clauses.

Also, I'm getting rid of the signoff line, because I was reading through this blog yesterday looking for comments from people (oh man that was passive-aggressive) and I suddenly found it to be rather cheesy. I'm not going to go back and delete every single one, but future entries won't have a signoff.

Maybe tonight is a good night to look for my passport. I mean I do want to leave the country at some point.