Dazed and Confused

I don’t know what to write about.

No, seriously. I’ve been thinking about writing every day for weeks now, and yet, I feel empty. Not emotionally, of course, but I definitely lack inspiration.

And I’ve heard it before: you can’t just wait for inspiration to hit you. You have to keep on writing until you produce an idea yourself. Writers don’t just sit around and wait for a lightbulb to go off over their heads; they write and write and write until their fingers cramp up, their eyes hurt from staring at a screen, their brains fry to a burnt crisp.

And I…have been waiting for something to hit me. Hence the lack of posts.

I know how it sounds like I am coming up with excuses. I’m not. In fact, it’s the opposite. I’m annoyed with myself because I’m not writing. So here I am, telling you how I haven’t been writing, and that I can’t stand that. I can’t stand that my nose isn’t stuck in between pages of the books I’ve recently purchased, I hate that my fingers aren’t consistently grazing across the keyboard when I get home from work, it annoys me that my fingers aren’t cramping around Zwanger pens.

So. Annoying.

But on the bright side…things are good. I think.

Sadly, I haven’t been going to the gym, but I’ve been in a lighter mood, for the most part. My laughter doesn’t feel so forced, and I’ve been spending a lot of my time outside of my room. No, I’m not going to a lot of places, but at least I’m not hiding away.

Sure, I still watch a good amount of Netflix and Hulu and YouTube—I am only human—but I’ve been spending my Monday nights at my Nan’s house, and Wednesdays at my mom’s, and some days with Jeanette. I’m keeping myself busy. That’s always good, right?

I’ve also made some plans, and have a handful of things to look forward to for the next couple of months. Like going to Jersey for a concert tonight, and seeing my sister next month, and going to a lantern festival with Amanda and Tim in August, and of course, Ed Sheeran in September. And hopefully I’ll be going to Florida again in October.

I’m actually doing things, can you believe that? Me. Amanda Hazard. Doing things other than laying on my bed and hanging out with my dogs.

I even got a new tattoo…which isn’t relevant, but I’m kind of obsessed with it.

Anyway, how does one continue to write when they have nothing going on on the inside? It’s not that I feel empty, I just…I don’t know. I don’t feel fulfilled or accomplished or inspired. Maybe I need a new backdrop. Have any ideas on where a girl could write from outside of her bedroom?

Also. I feel like something is missing from my life. Like, in a way, I feel closer to my family now than I have in a while. I’ve really been enjoying game nights at Nan’s with my aunts and cousins, and hanging out with my parents and younger siblings (sidenote: they really have to stop growing up, it was cute at first, but now it’s just getting annoying), but I also feel disconnected, in a way.

For one thing, I’ve been fighting myself over this one thing. I have tried so hard to cut a friend out of my life, but I don’t know if I’m really doing it anymore for the right reasons. I think I’m being selfish, that I just didn’t want to deal with the drama in her life anymore, but it hurts.

What can I say? I get invested.

I feel like I need to know that she’s okay, but I don’t want to get pulled into Therapist Mode again. I miss her family, and the good things that came with her, but I don’t know if I want to feel like a horrible person again. Things used to be so good, but something changed. I don’t know if it was her or me, but something shifted in our friendship, and I didn’t want to hear it anymore. I feel like she only focused on all things negative in her life, and didn’t appreciate any of the good, and everything that came out of her mouth that used to concern me just made me roll my eyes.

I guess I just didn’t care anymore.

Which sounds horrible, right? Shouldn’t someone who considers you a friend, or even family, always be there for you, regardless of the situation? I used to think so, but now, I don’t know.

Actually, I think that’s just been my answer for everything. I don’t know.

Things feel lighter, but also heavier. I’ve been super emotional lately, but also, I’ve always been that way. I don’t get it; Aries are supposed to be strong and fearless and have a strong sense of self, but I just don’t feel like that right now. I actually kind of feel like a fraud.

Right now, I should be focused on enjoying my youth. I should be traveling and dating and going out to clubs, and doing stupid, young-people things, like most people my age do. And instead of doing those things, I’m feeling major FOMO, and kind of lonely.

Which is crazy, since I have a lot of family, and a couple of friends. I’ve been missing my friends from college a lot, and how invincible I used to feel when I was with them. Right now, I kind of feel like the Odd Man (Woman?) Out. Life feels a lot like that Hunter Hayes song, Everybody’s Got Somebody But Me. Which is also interesting, and super confusing, since I literally just had a conversation with Amanda the other day about how I wasn’t ready for men in my life. Because I’m definitely not.

I’m ready for figuring myself out, but I think only having friends that have significant others is really screwing with my head. It’s giving me that feeling of being left behind again.

And, so, the anxiety sets in.

Jesus. I started this thing with how things were good, and how I didn’t know what to write about, and now? I can’t freaking stop. What a contradiction, am I right? I really need to get my head in the game.

Work’s been going great. Yesterday was a long day, but hey, overtime is overtime. And I’ve yet to have a problem with anyone that I work with (which is great, but for all I know, everyone is full of fake smiles and actually can’t stand me—but that could also just be my insecurities talking, I don’t know).

I’m pretty sure I was meant to always be an old person. This whole young thing just isn’t my forte. Maybe it was when my life consisted of Disney and Barney and Annie and Sailor Moon and Mary Kate and Ashley, but I feel like I don’t feel what I should be feeling. I just feel stressed and scared and confused. About everything.

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A twenty-two year old who lives through words and her Netflix account. She makes herself laugh more than others, and she claims that she is okay with that.

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