Aspirations

Lately I have found myself wondering what kind of person I am. If I could be labeled (most people don’t seem to want to be labeled, but alas I’m strange) with one thing, what would it be? I am neither a homemaker or a businesswoman. I am neither an artist or a photographer. I am neither unique or different. What exactly am I?

Lately I have found myself saying, “I wish I were ____” a lot.

I’ve past the point of acceptance. I am me, there’s no denying that. I am fine with the way I am. But many times, I just want more. More… more of something definite.

So if I could be a few clearly defined things I would like to be…

A woman that bakes exceptionally well and decorates her home beautifully.

A friend that always has wine, cheese, and crackers for whenever you want to come over.

A person that always has friends come over.

A homeowner.

A DIY kind of girl.

A much more creative, talented version of myself.

A woman that talks sweetly, calling friends and acquaintances “sweetie” and “love.”

A woman that makes everyone feel special.

It’s official. I think I’ve painted a photo filled with thoughts and dreams and aspirations akin to a country housewife… Honestly not my intention. But I want to be THAT girl. The one that has it all, that looks and dresses perfectly, is always prepared, has things to do with her time. Instead I’m this urban American that drives a luxury car to and from work, lives by the beach (but never goes), and I sit around watching grand ol’ American TV and microwave dinners when I get home.

I am so bored with my life.

I just want to host dinners, have pleasant and enlightening conversations over coffee and cigarettes, be social.

Too many aspirations. Too many changes. Not enough time, money, or the energy.

These days I completely don’t mind doing anything alone. If I want to go to a movie, I’ll go. If I want to see a play, I’ll go. There is no sense of requirement that someone must tag along. And while doing this provides me temporary entertainment I am not painting myself as anything definite, perhaps in part because none of this is anything anyone witnesses. I am not anything to anyone. I feel like a bunch of scattered blocks.

I don’t know if this is the preemptive feelings of unrest before a big internal and emotional change. I just know that I am not satisfied with my life. But each passing day I do nothing. My life is a gigantic waste of time and there is nothing productive coming from me. I am not working towards any goal. Nothing bigger and better will come from my diseased lifestyle.

Many days I just feel so numb, so drugged… and no outlet to rid myself of the toxins.

This is not who I am. But I am also not working towards who I want to be. And so, this perpetual state of limbo stirs me into restlessness. Worried.

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