To do something
I just want to be preoccupied.
That, while I am trying to figure out where I really am going, I will be preoccupied by something.
Something that makes sense. Something that matters. Something that I’m good at.
I’m not really sure if this is it. If this blog is it. If the half-baked posts, pretentious thoughts (I sometimes think) are it.
I always doubt that they are, and I think this is because there’s just so many amazing posts out there.
No, I don’t measure by the responses and/or clicks of buttons.
It’s more of the feeling I get when I read a post by a stranger or a friend and how I read my own stuff and I doubt very much that anyone feels like I feel towards those by other people.
I’d love to impress people with my drawing but I can’t draw to save my life. I can’t sing, let alone write songs. I can’t write poems or stories. (I try and this is it)
Ah and now it’s out. Maybe it’s the frustration from wanting to impress people. And not.
Or maybe it’s what I’ve always thought–the frustration from seeing kids my age publishing things people love, touring all over the world to show their talent, creating things people would pay to see.
Things that always lead me to ask,
What am I doing with my life?