I’ve been dabbling random thoughts in my journal lately in attempts to possibly construct a useful entry, but it’s a garbled mess of musings from the past two weeks that make no sense to me, but perhaps it will to you.
I highly suspect someone invisible uttered an unspeakable F name of a certain headache causing variety, because I am not acting like a chicken, laughing uncontrollably, jumping up and down because of a board game, (although I am suddenly really wanting to play Monopoly purely for procrastination type purposes) and unfortunately not taking a nice long nap. Did I mention I want to take a really nice long nap? Perhaps it will cure my headacheyness, which of course is another made up word. Come to think of it is probably this insane amount of literary theory by crazy French men, which is really interesting, but headache causing, stupid assignments, then there is the eye strain from the catastrophic amount of novel reading, financial stress because work is being a poo head and only giving me six hours a week, my humongous gianormous accumulating debt, then other types of stress, think flatmate type wars and the story idea outbreak going through my head at the most inconvenient moment.
So to quote the lovably vain Officer Octogenarian, the character not the person, “Owe my entire beautiful brain!”
Yes there has been story idea outbreak in my entire mind, stupid characters are really insistent about the sequel to Song of the Superheroes for some reason. I’ve decided Sarah Evans is coming back, apparently she doesn’t feel like she has fulfilled her mission against the corporate owning media or more likely the misogynistic Nigel. I’ve just lost the will to write lately. I want to get these ideas onto a computer screen and/or paper, but I think I have become to stressed or depressed to do so. It hurts me to neglect my writing.
I suddenly feel like I am whinging. I keep thinking sometimes that I hate my life and I have wasted a good part of my adult life doing everything in strange mix matched make no sense kind of way. I don’t really think my life has ever made sense to me. Then again I shouldn’t because I’ve accomplished some major goals of mine for starters come to Australia and to go to university. I’ve done two things my family hasn’t. I should be immensely proud, but all I feel is regret for some strange reason. I just feel like my priorities have become all backwards. For starters I continued to go to school after high school had finished, went to a foreign country to study, suddenly rebelled like I secretly wanted too and by that I mean question religion and partying. Now I want to go home just have a random job and work towards my drivers’ license so that I can get a good paying job in journalism so I can work towards being an author.
I can’t help thinking it should have been the later, followed by school, some sort of rebellion I didn’t come into partying till I was in my twenties most of my friends rebelled once they hit 17-19, then college and university in my home country in something I decided. I was kind of prodded into journalism because everyone reckoned I was a good writer. I wanted to be an astronomer, still do sometimes, but now I am in so much debt, that will be likely to not happen. Then I should have come to Australia as a tourist, not a student before and/or after getting a good paying job, but no it’s all jumbled around. It feels random and sporadic, I feel like chaos. May I remind you this entry is not about sympathy, just random garbled feelings I’ve been neglecting I need to get out of my head for some cathartic reason.
I have to constantly remind myself that everything happens for a reason, I wouldn’t have met my amazingly awesome beautiful friends here, written a novel or rebelled. It will be interesting to see how much I have changed once I go home. I shouldn’t regret my decisions, but I still do.
I am going home, but despite the minute amount of mixed emotions still left I am at peace with it and actually quite excited about it. I suddenly realise my fantastically intelligent attempt to stay here, if it didn’t put me in further debt helped me become ready for going home perhaps? To face my issues that I now admit perhaps came to Australia to get away from. Maybe I should go home to figure out how all this chaotic order of events happened and perhaps settle it before it becomes more so. Also my grandparents are getting older, I can’t help feeling they are not going to be around for much longer and I don’t want to be overseas when they are pushing up the daisies. Then there is the friends I’ve forgotten back home, I feel like I’ve neglected them. Mind you going home has nothing to do with guilt.
And the big thing I want to do is find my father. I feel like some will never know what it is like to have a big question such as this constantly hanging around you. The longer I put it off the more it eats at me. I have also just made the connection to why I am dreaming about being eaten by aliens. For starters I have felt alienated by people most of my life and well questions such as who is my father combined with this is slowly metaphorically eating me alive. It’s not a nice feeling.
Does anyone feel the way I do?
A Life of Choice
7 years ago