DayJanuary 31, 2012


I supplement my lack of living by buying, buying, buying. And I will sit here with my pocketbook lying open and sadly empty, and still none the happier.

For too many people, being happy at home is pretty much an abstract idea, something they can’t know or imagine, until it appears on some taste maker’s must-have list, or in a magazine, or reposted on Tumblr. A home sweet home is not curated or produced by acquiring a perfect arrangement of chairs, lamps and friends. A real living space is made from living, not decorating. A bored materialist can’t understand that a house has to become a home. It happens, not through perfection but by participation.

Andy & Elsa Beach
Apartamento issue #07

I wonder when the day will come when I actually start living.

Everything I wish for feels impossibly impossible. Or I’m just not courageous enough to do anything and instead I’m just paralyzed, unmoving.

Things I wish for:

  • To move to Europe
  • Get a new job – one I feel passionate about
  • Quit my job and travel
  • Go back to school
  • Create art

Alone these things do not seem so hard. But, they are, to me. I feel like I need some form of reassurance that should I proceed things will turn out OK. I only have adults in my life that would say just how unreasonable my wishes are or take me lightly and tell me to just do something about it already. That makes me really sad to be honest. I mean, I never had any push from anyone to go to college and I finished that. But now that I’m out of college I just feel like the whole world has killed my dreams. And by that I don’t mean to say the world has actively gone out of its way to demolish my aspirations, but rather that the whole world seems a whole lot more… oppressive than I thought.

Why can’t I reach a content state of living? The point where I’m making sufficient amounts of money to buy not just the things I need, but all the things I want, too. To not have to worry about certain things because I’m living securely. Etc. etc.  etc.

I mainly feel so isolated. Like I just don’t belong anywhere. So I stay unmoving within the confines of my four walls where I know I am unhappy but relatively OK.

I just don’t know if it’s worth it going back to school. As much as I loved learning I just don’t want to feel that pressure anymore of deadlines, staying up late, writing because something is due.

But yes, the “real” thing bothering me is always the same. Always. There’s nothing I can do. Just wait. Wait and forget.