Hey there, 2013, so great to screw you so soon.

It is an absolute tragedy for me to comprehend the speed at which thoughts enter and simultaneously exit my brain. As if there were a station packed neatly between every other word in my head; the train stops there, unloads and moves forward without a hitch. Stop and go. Red light, green light. Clockwork.

There are times when I think about how easy it would be to write for a living. Sure, I have a lot to learn about grammar and structure but it would be fun to put my thoughts on paper. I find it magical what writers can do and I am confident that I could weave a story and give life to characters my readers could grow to love and enjoy page after page. Then again, the sheer amount of focus it would take for me to actually write something that isn’t complete shit would exhaust me beyond measure and, unquestionably, I would fail.

I’ve had a lot of time on my hands the last few days. My travels have taken me to four states in 2013 alone. Mind you, today is January 10. Regardless, the amount of time I have spent thinking about writing has more than doubled in the last two weeks. I’d mentioned my recent decision to go back to school and, honestly, I was really surprised at how quickly I selected a major. I hesitate to say it was without doubt or that I might be happily fearful of the outcome. While I am not really ready to share (mostly out of fear that I will embarrass myself by changing later) I haven’t felt this “solid” about anything in a while. I don’t know if this is a good or bad omen so I’m just going with the flow until it proves to be something I need to re-evaluate.

Back to the writing thing — I keep having these moments of… clarity?  It’s hard for me to really place my finger on what or how I am feeling because it’s oddly effortless. I feel organized inside even though the rest of me is spiraling into a pit of desperate mishap, things in my head feel calm. Part of me is so certain that I finally have my act together while the other parts of me are sitting in wheeled chairs with their feet propped up on their desks, laughing.  Surely something has triggered this need to dump the contents of my mind out for all to see.

The issues I have with Liam are at a standstill. I’ve been friend-zoned despite an intensely hot make-out session two weeks ago. I harbor an extreme desire to paint the entire picture, offer you a glimpse into everything that led to that moment but, in doing so, I feel as if I am betraying some part of him while tarnishing yet another part of myself. I struggle greatly at balancing my recognition of the proverbial “line” and, stupidly, crossing it.

I have a friend who lives by the idea that you will always regret doing nothing more than doing something. While there is great validity in that statement, it is nearly certain that I will do something. There are times when I haven’t even the slightest clue what that something will be, I just know that it must happen. I absolutely cannot sit back, breathe, or have a second thought. I jump in feet first and come out choking on my ignorance every single time. I’ll curse my choices, blame it on some random tidbit from my upbringing that I deem undeserving and continue along the same path time and time again.

Sure, it sounds like a bunch of bullshit. Trust me; nobody knows this better than I do. I cannot even begin to imagine how my friends feel about the choices I’ve been making because they’ve been the ones left to take the pieces of me too tiny to repair, sweep them under a rug and stomp on them. Ultimately I will find some sliver of mercy remaining in this world and stumble upon something worth everything I am and, more importantly, everything I am not. I fear it will be then and only then that the space left from those broken specks of dust now under that rug will begin to close.

I wish I knew what the hell I was saying. Sometimes it sounds so good in my head but when it makes it onto the screen its shiny coat has turned into a mud covered mess.

I begin classes in four days and I have already begun to worry about my assignments. For my Biology class I have to write a paper about myself. My professor is a self-proclaimed minivan loving hippie mom. She has expressed a deep attachment to the need to know every personal question imaginable. I wish I was kidding when I said that she had a list of questions that we must address in our introductory assignment. Included (but not limited to) she inquires on my marital status, number of children if applicable, employment, major, favorite color, lucky number, astrological sign, type of vehicle I operate, extracurricular activities, place of residence, and it would appear everything but the date of my last menstrual period. I fear that she will become so attached to each of the students in this class that we’ll all be driving to Maryland to share chai latte dates with her before the end of the session. As a fan of the chai latte I am okay with this; however, her pursuit of information is exhausting. I haven’t read the syllabus for my writing class so God only knows what that woman will want from me. I’m betting somewhere between a DNA sample and a lock of hair from my first born son. Both are doable for the right grade on my final exam.

I keep avoiding what it is that I really want to talk about. Surprising, right?

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le=”font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;”>In the spirit of vagueness, I should be going. I need to work on that biographical sketch so that my professor can get to know me. I don’t think that my twitter bio will suffice. It reads, “You know that frazzled lady in line ahead of you at Target whose kids say such awkward things that you wonder why she isn’t drunk? It’s nice to meet you, too.”