And, classes.

Time to go to class and hustle. Now I'm in a moving period. Going, going. I like my classes a lot... I'm just... sigh... I just don't know what I want to do with myself, ya know? I do well in them... I could do much better and finish school much faster if it were all I'm doing. But it's not. And I like the other stuff better. My soul needs it. So. Here I am I guess.

And the sadness. The loneliness of just not having love, even if I have friends, no love for so long... Wow. I dunno. A year. Is that normal? I mean there's been love... but... limited... extremely... frustrating... I can't move without giving it one more shot... just to run into him... and see what happens... I need to stop thinking about this. I'm thinking about it less. And I haven't written him in 4 days and I have no impulse to now.

Okay. Class.

Writing as changing the course...

Writing as magic... as the power to manifest destiny.

I've had some great suggestions from many of you to make this into a book, and one offered the added bonus that I can have it end how I like. And I've realized, that everything I wrote became something real, and everything real became something I wrote, and that, I've always been able to MANIFEST... when I dream of things happening they do... that's how I've done all this stuff... but I'm not... I'm a mess and I'm spacey and flighty and have in the past wanted some pretty dark things, and to be in some pretty bad situations, and with the good things I only wanted a taste... not to follow through and do the work... so... you know it doesn't become... but... that's the thing...

The wise thing to do right now, would be to write this blog, as if it's really happening, but to write what I want to happen instead. And then it will. Then I'll do it.

I just... I don't know what I want... I don't like to plan and... I don't know if it's the right time-- as I'm composing this symphony, for triumphant horns, cymbals, strings, for clearly the last movement, or for the diminuendo, the flutes, the quiet, relaxing pastoral movement.

So I just don't know???

I have nothing to tell my Grandma.

He tried to get me to say stuff about my mood swinging and coloring my perspective and I actually kind of laughed at him because it was so forced and desperate, he was like, "Well. You have this mood... that swings... back and forth." And I was like, HA. And he was like "I'm trying to be a serious psychologist for a minute here." So, that made me laugh. And then, he continued, more astute, about looking at the external situation and I kept on saying No. I know. But. It's not like that. And he said, Oh, well, why not, you tell me?

So I (completely pretending I had NOT JUST WRITTEN HIM about why I'm miserable right now... as he was, because, for all I know, maybe he hasn't even read it, right?) said:

"Okay. It's like... I have nothing to tell my Grandma right now. On the phone... Well I can make stuff up..."

"Oh..." he said, "Well.. what would you like to tell your Grandma?"

"Well, she just wants to hear--" I said, "That I have a nice boyfriend, and I'm at a job I like." I started tearing up. "So, I don't have anything to tell her." I put my face in my hands. And just sat there like that sobbing still and silent into my hands for a while.