Try #2. a.k.a., If at first you don't succeed...

I'm going back to the write-down-anything-because-at-least-it's-something policy. What I write really shouldn't matter, since no one is going to read it, and whatever I think up is never as earth-shattering as I'd like. So I'll just have to putter along on spurts of nothing until I can actually say blogging is habit. Read: another year or so.

Now, what to write about... don't have much to say about my life, since it's so humdrum that this struggling blog is an attempt to spice it up. If I were to write down all the stuff I think about, I'd weave myself into a very tangled, never-ending web. Is more than one post a day okay? Or is it a testament to how egocentric I am? (Hint: I don't think I'm that egocentric.... I'm just self-centered/obsessed. Glad we got that straight.)

Seriously, though, I know very well how insignificant I am, and sometimes- fine, often - wish I wasn't. I'd like to be a flaming ball of brilliance and inspire the masses. I'd like to be famous. I'd like to be awesome. So in contrast to these lovely castles (or California villas, since I'd prefer one of those than a dank castle) in the air, you can bet that I feel my lameness rather keenly. I feel like I live more in my mind than I do in reality. According to MyType, I'm an introvert and a thinker. Of course I'm going to think, and think, and obsess about what I think, and obsess and think about thinking and obsessing. Of course I'll get absorbed in my own little world. It seems awfully large and mysterious to me, and I want to figure it out. If I get freaked out by the dark corners, or forget where I'm going (look at how I started this post- I have no idea how I got here), well.... so be it. I've tried staying out before, and it doesn't work.

I'm really not sure how I got here, and I have no idea how to get back. No wonder I never post here. It confuses me. I also annoy myself with how much I use "I", "me", and "myself." I'd count, but that would feed my appetite for self-criticism, and no matter how hungry it thinks it is, it's not. Absolutely not.

On looking over what I've written, I realize a) I'm self-obsessed; b) I still have no idea what I'm doing; c)this is about as worthwhile as penny candy, but I have to post it anyway; and d) I'm beyond lame, and if I can't manage to write a decent blog post, I might as well give up any dreams of awesomeness right now. Yay.

Basically, I have the feeling that my life is going nowhere, and it scares and frustrates me. I only just turned 19 three days ago. Cynicism has no place in youth, yet it's here like it belongs. Like it was born and bred here, or it was visiting and then found all the angsty teens so hospitable it decided to stay. I don't want to be another jaded teen, and besides, I'm getting too old to be one. Soon I'll be jaded and in my twenties, which sounds awfully depressing. Begone, Cynicism! You smell of old, moldy cheese, and I dislike having you stink up my pretty house of ideas and dreams!

I'm on spring break. I still have a whole year left of being a teenager. I have my own room. I'm not in an earthquake zone. I'm smart, if not driven; I can sort of draw and sing and act, and I can write most of the time. I still have dancing to learn, and places to see, and people to meet. There are always new things to discover and do and be.

The phrase "The world as we know it will never be the same" is ridiculous. "World as we know it..."? There is way too much in the world for us to know it. "...will never be the same"? It's never as we have known it from one moment to the next, thank goodness.. It's always changing. "Same-old-same" doesn't exist.

The sun shone all day today and it got up to fifty-seven degrees. FIFTY-SEVEN!! Life is coming back to the Northeast. And me.

I think I'm done now.
For now.

I think blogging does me good.
I think I'm getting better.
I hope.

Goodnight!