forgot to mention i'm insane by definition

when i was younger and would get into bitch mode, my mother would refer to me as "mopey vic." at the moment when i gave a particularly scathing or whiny remark, she'd simply look at me and say, "there she blows!"

well, mopey vic is in rare form this evening. i attribute much of it to the fact that i've been sick all day. while intending to accomplish a great number of things, i wound up writing my column, curling up in my chair, taking naps (during which my phone seemed to ring constantly - sorry to those who called, i didn't feel like moving to answer) or otherwise accomplishing next to nothing. achy head, queasy stomach ... all the fun of an annoying cold without the complete 'well yeah, i'm sick' vibe. a cold tease, if you will.

since it's incredibly difficult to be an optimistic lass when one wants to curl up and die, i spent my semi-conscious hours feeling sorry for myself. well, that's not entirely accurate. it wasn't that i was pitying myself or anything, but the frustration of my lack of forward movement hit home and hit home hard.

i've known for years that i'm meant to be a writer. while the precise details have changed over time and after introductions to various forms of writing, the important part has always remained the same. i'm supposed to write and i'm supposed to make a name for myself doing it. what can i say? i've always been ambitious, i'll always be ambitious and i don't want to ever stop that need to excell at whatever it is i'm doing.

but there's something throwing a big wrench in the plans. the writing has been incredibly difficult lately. it's all-consuming, taking from me my thoughts, my energy and my time. yet i don't feel as if i'm gaining anything in return. what do i have to show for myself right now? i'm a freelancer yet to find out if i'll get a fulltime job. i struggle on a daily basis to come up with something that begins to meet my self-imposed standards and rarely feel as if i've come up with something that makes me happy. i find it impossible to acknowledge the reality that there are times - many times, in fact - at which point you need to simply crank out a story and turn to the next. i can't settle for cranking things out. it's not my nature.

so i'm constantly pushing myself and frustrating myself to meet those standards, probably succeeding only in taking two steps back each time i try to take a single step forward. i'm basically psyching myself out. for the first time, the writing truly feels like work. and it leaves me exhausted.

i can't let the frustration get to me, as i'm still trying to prove to the powers that be that i'm someone they want around on a permanent basis. meanwhile, i'm existing in my little suspended reality, focusing so intently on the fact that i know karma is going to swing back in my favor and i'm going to get what i deserve. but what if i don't? what if it turns out that this was one big wild goose chase to get me up here and i'll be left on my arse to figure out what to do next? what will next be? and if that's the case, how will i be able to focus on the fact that it wasn't me, it was the circumstances? how do i know it's NOT me?

i guess i've always just known that this is what i would do with my life - but now i'm starting to question whether that is actually the reality of the situation. i feel as if there's something that must be coming around the corner to give me a big wake-up call one way or the other, but i'm almost scared to find out what form it will take. i'm 23 years old and i'm supposed to be able to succeed. i don't want to wake up one day, find out i'm 35 and i'm older, alone and not doing what makes me happy. i don't want to be that age and in the same place i'm in now. i want to be doing something exciting with fascinating people and the passion for work and life i've felt in the past. what am i supposed to do if it's not this? where's my big blinking neon sign giving me some form of direction? where are the friendly faces and new adventures around every bend? that's the program i signed up for ...

i guess i'm just in a holding pattern at the moment. and i don't deal well with holding patterns.

i really feel as if i want to get away for a little break - experience something new. the lack of answers professionally, the cold, the solitude ... it's all wearing on me and i want to escape. i want warmth, sunshine and the promise of, if nothing else, something previously unexperienced. california has been on my mind constantly. at least if i was there for a little vaca, i'd be a few times zones away from all the shite here ...

but, alas, must focus on practicality. bollocks. socal, do not give up on me yet - i'll get there sooner or later.

to further add to my sense of befuddlement, i learned that an old boyfriend of mine is now engaged to be married. while it's been years since i've even spoken to said former flame and i've changed so much since that point in my life, the fact that someone who was once so close to me (whether for good or bad i won't even get into) is now preparing to wed. i wasn't concerned with the particular details - hell, could have been anyone - but was struck by the sensation of feeling incredibly old.

when did all this happen? when did former housemates go and get married? when did old boyfriends get engaged? when did i start to worry that everyone i know is going to be on their own paths to happiness and i'll still be wondering where to go?

and why do i have to learn about everything less than pleasant when i'm already feeling less than one hundred percent?

oh now i will be selective, calm, cool and collective
and listening to the voice and its prospective
hoping that the choice is appropriatley respected
protective me
protective me
protective me
protective me
but i would like a little sugar in my coffee
i would like a little dream
and i'd prefer another smoke before the morning or anything else in between

bah. it's one of those days from which i must simply hide beneath the covers. i'll close my eyes, wish these 24 hours away and wake up to sunshine and a new day - a blank page.