I wish I could answer the question for myself. I wish that the summer/fall sun still adorned my black clad shoulders and pouted lips. Yet I can't. (However "model" is never how I would describe myself.)
I find myself in the middle of an identity crises. I'm happy... content... If I never published anything ever again I would be satisfied being classified as a one-hit-wonder. I wish I could say that I've been productive since my last post, yet I find myself in the midst of "end-of-the-year-writer's-block" that will hopefully make my next piece a great work of art.
Currently, my life is changing. I had always thought that when I graduated from high school, recognition would be easily found, my life would be simple and I wouldn't be working a less than adequate (yet decent paying) job at a gas station. I write brilliant epics inside of my head while I'm taking out the trash and cleaning piss off of the toilet seats in the men's restroom, yet none of my ideas seem to take to paper very well...yet.
If asked 6 months ago where I'd be now, I would have never answered that I'd be stuck with my writing, yet happy in life, trying to find a better occupation and getting ready to dread my hair.
I have so much to say, but so little need nor want to speak up. I'm not trying to sound deep nor meaningful nor "angsty", it's just true. ...I think the Captain may be a little lost.
End Transmission.
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