The last Saturday of October, the one before the crazy stuff of Christmas begins and I’m sitting here thinking of so many things. I’m stressing about the 8 weeks till my Jamaican vacation and all I believe I need to get done before that. I’m concerned that that’ll be the end, that the plane will crash or my luggage will be lost and this is the longest trip I’ve taken. There’s excitement and terror mixed within that and I’m sure I’ll forget something. I’ve set myself tasks to complete before that occurs including tackling the shopping centres for the dreaded Christmas shopping and reading what I can. But it occurs to me that I have not completed a story since the last days of 2012 which was before my life altered dramatically, when my mother passed to her next journey. Is it simply that life has changed for me since then or have I generally just lost interest in complete novel writing? I’m more interested in reading others stories and having everything sorted perfectly in the house.
All on my mind comes down to one little thing, I must be feeling insecure about something perhaps it’s myself or something in the world I cannot control. But I suppose there’s always an underlying feeling of some sort within me. I’m concerned that if I take this action or that I’ll make my life a whole worse than what it could be. And that feeling that I’m annoying is creeping back in and somehow I’m talking myself into the one where I feel unloved but even I know that’s just ridiculous. It’s nowhere near the truth. Everyone just seems to be too busy to think about me at this moment and maybe I just can’t say it out loud, say I just want to spend some time with someone. I just want to sort through this massive list inside my head and figure out what my heart is saying right now. I don’t want to feel like I want to cry right now because I can’t work out what this emotion is. I can’t work out how to spend the day when boredom takes hold. I wanted to feel an excitement, to plan the day with hope for all I am.
I’m trying to reflect on what I thought this year would be and what has actually occurred. I know that things are always going to be different from our expectations but I never foresaw the things happening that did. The love and the pain that came and the distance gained from things. The dreams that flourished and the ones that were stomped into the ground. I’m aiming to look on the more positive side of life but as the pressure mounts I’m left to wonder what it all means and if it’s possible for me to move through it. If the things I really want are merely just simple things that I can receive or if there’s a lot of effort involved in making my dreams comes true. That times of being strong have been and gone and I’ve just succumbed back to what I was. Determination and routine demolished by thoughts destroying my inner control.
And then everything is taken out of your control by a surprise that brings the biggest smile to your face and I am reconsidering everything once again. There seemed to be so many things I wanted to say but then the moment came and nothing would come out the way I wanted them to. And a simple weekend can change all you believed in, it starts out with a girl believing one thing and then ends with second guessing and all new questions. There always seems to be something on my mind, something that niggles within my soul that I just can’t resolve.