Sometimes giving up is okay. Wasting about a decade of your life fruitlessly pursuing something you aren’t even good at to begin with, that’s something you should realize while your young and still have time to salvage the rest of your life. I was hopelessly in love with writing and the idea that I too could become a professional author, but that’s something I’m simply not meant to become. Almost ten years of my life, since I was a little kid, I thought that this was my calling. It hurts so much, giving up, because I thought that if I wanted it enough I can force it to happen but the evidence kept piling up until it refused to be ignored any longer. The rejections, the meandering hours staring at a blank screen or scrap of paper, the hesitations and reservations; I don’t have the mettle and talked a big game, here I am at 2 am on a Tuesday after coming home from my shift at the Velcro factory. This is not where I thought my life would end up when I was twelve, but that’s okay because I’m twenty-two going-on twenty-three and definitely not a middle-aged man still wasting away in front of a keyboard while hoping that his chicken scratch will make him money someday. I can still save myself.
It’s my own fault, really. I dreamt too hard and acted too softly, it was inevitable. I sat and wanted while letting life get in the way and carry me to where I am today, a passenger of my own existence rather than a player, a driver, a doer/decider. No time to sulk though, this is America, land of the Boot-strap mentality. I’m not cut out to be a writer, but making Velcro makes money.
I still need an outlet for my own unfiltered thoughts and seeing as how I’ve already paid for another year of this blog, might as well use it for that. Not like anyone reads the shit I have to say anyway, it’s almost perfect.
Illuminatus: Blog of Inconsistency.
illuminatus.blog 