After a completely unproductive day, I sit here in my stupid bunk bed– I repeat, bunk bed— with an irritating headache that only serves to remind me how crappy I am. At everything here.
It would be fine if I was giving it all I have. And I almost turned away from writing this just now but I feel like I need to have it out with myself. There’s no discipline here, I can get on facebook whenever. I can pretend I’ll be productive later but really don’t want to focus. It reminds me that I’m not at home and I’m by myself here, essentially. Haven’t I learned by now? Being sad, staying inside, huddling scared and sad because I’m alone? Not doing anything? All it does is make me feel like shit.
I hate this room. It’s pleasant enough, as tiny boxes go. But I miss my family. I want to go home. I want to go home right now and never come back even though I know it’s the here and now that’s important. No one here gives a crap if I succeed or fail. I mean, they’ll care, and probably feel a little bad for me, but nothing will be done about it. Tim Horton’s for life, here I come.
No. That can’t be how it is. That won’t be how it works out. I’m tired and I’m scared and I’m so sad, right down my nauseated heart, but it can’t be how it ends. This place has to take me somewherre. I’m trusting that it can, that it will. That I’m meant for something more than wishing. I don’t want the someday to be constantly yearned for and never attained. I want to reach it, and keep reaching.
Until I can’t reach because I’m simply gone.