I need to chill or I'm liable to give myself a nervous breakdown. Now now now. I'm depressed with my life which is ridiculous because spring is here and the city looks amazing and I have no purpose. (banging head on desk)
Mike's mom and I were sitting outside Sunday having a cigarette when she said, "Look at all that's happened this past year."
I KNOW. So much positive has happened! I know this. Really. But why am I so scared to death of living this life forever. I know more than anyone that life can change on a dime. I know that by next year my life will not likely highly resemble this. Although I do hope I'll still be living in the same place, still be with Mike, and I can't imagine why I still wouldn't work here.
I just want more. Sigh. I want to make money off a hobby. I spent all last night researching candy store ownership and then closed the book on that. It's a whole lot of work (which I don't mind) but the profits are not a guarantee and who the hell has the money to start something like that up and face it, I hate retail and wouldn't trust my employees.
Then I thought I'd just start small and sell baked goods at street fairs throughout the warm months and have fun and make some money and enjoy baking at the same time. But I just researched NJ street fairs and saw some photos of past fairs. The people in the pictures pissed me off and I recalled that I don't like the public very much either let alone the kinds of people in NJ who actually attend street fairs. I never did unless my Dad took me to one.
Another sigh. Do all people my age go through this? Am I just supposed to go through the motions and try my best to do cool stuff and enjoy my hobbies.
Side note: I always thought I'd write a memoir. I knew I would do this for many many years. Then....I just stopped caring about what happened to me that was to be the base of my memoir and then I couldn't think of anything else in my life worth writing about.
Last night, Mike flicked a switch. "Jess, write a children's book or a fiction book." Duh Jess. I've closed the book on memoir writing. I really don't care too much about what happened to me anymore. I'm over it.
Sigh. I just wish I knew what I could do successfully. I don't have any skills. No nun chuck skills, no computer hacking skills. I can't even grow a moustache.
I wish I was a cartoon voice. And instead of going out there and finding or developing a skill, I rather just sit here.