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Latest Journal Entry

May 19, 2006

Mad at the world and everything

Ok, so it's 2:13 in the morning, I'm sitting sleepless at my desk in front of my pc screen, having consumed two cups of coffee and thinking... Would anyone go for it? For what you ask? I have a simple four-lettered answer; life Would anyone like to stop existing and start actually living? Fat chance. For example, I'm sitting in my room, with the stories down, enjoying both the darkness and the silence. How stupid is that? When i could be out in the sunlight, having a cup of -surprise!- coffee and chating pleasantly with my friends. Nope, not happening. Quality time spent with myself, is when I get creative. When I begin to write as if life sprungs out of me. My own magical world. My sanctuary. Either that writing is a song, a poem, a beginning of a story or an article it doesn't matter. Either I'm singing or dancing, or drawing or playing guitar it is of little importance. The point is I'm being creative. And when I'm being creative, I'm being me. And when I'm being me, I'm starting to live. And for those few moments -or at least that's what they seem like even if it is in fact hours- when I'm alive, I'm trully happy. I'm where I supposed to be, before all this stupid stuff came in my way, taking away my life. School, work, studying hard to become a highly paid employee, breathe and exist to help make other people's dreams come true, have a husband and three kids and white big dog. But when do I get a life of my own? I life I want and deserve. A life I hope and dream of having. A life I come closer to having with each passing day. A life where sky's the limit. And that's why I'm mad at the world and everything. It deprives me of my righteous privilege to live and let live. Of my right to love, dream and hope. It stips me of a life I need to have. Freedom and happiness. Love and health. But how healthy can we be, when we keep builting inside of us the world we want and believe cannot exist in reality? And with the passing years, that world becomes but a vague image of the past. An unfullfilled dream. A silly old idea we had when we were young and foolish, making implausible dreams. And when we grow old and grey, we realise that life was not what he had expected. And our smile fades as we realise that our chances are over. No more hopes or dreams or chances of a better life, a life we actually care to lead. I want to put a stop to it. How? By using my imagination. By being creative. By using my anger to the world as a portkey into a world where none of these horrible things like "obligations", "jobs", and "sacrifices" exist. When you love what you do, there's no obligation or sacrifice to it. It's not a job. It's who you are. And when it starts to look like a job, stop doing it. It's not you any more. I'll finish with a quote from one of Black Sabbath's songs, Solitude: "The world is a lonely place, you're on your own Guess I will go home, sit down and moan Crying and thinking is all that I do Memories I have remind me of you."

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