Just admit it. Life is hard. Being an adult sucks ass.
There are days I want to listen to my punk music (the Ramones, the Sex Pistols and the Buzzcocks to name a few) and post punk music (seminal bands like the Smiths, Siouxsie and the Banshees and the Cure) and dance until my head hurts to escape the messiness and mundaneness of life.
If someone was brave enough to tell kids how hard life was, teens would never want to grow up so quick. When I was a teenager, I couldn't wait to be eighteen. My dreams of being in college and doing whatever I wanted fizzled out like diet coke left open in the sun when I dropped out of high school at seventeen.
By nineteen, I was waiting tables and struggling to make rent on a low income apartment in Upland.
Life seems better on paper now. I went to UCR for my English degree and graduated magna cum laude and then USC Law, I have the pedigree I always craved as a young child. Yet, there is something wrong. What is wrong with me? I know it is cliche to say life is getting me down, but it is. This thing we call life is so boring most days. Wake up, eat, walk dogs, drive to work, work, drive home, eat, go to sleep. Blah. Blah. Blah.
I have a bad case of the blahs.
The only things that help are music, writing, and television. Granted, television is more of a numbing agent which I admit I use frequently. Watching thirteen one hour episodes of a new series on Netflix in three days ("Orange is the New Black") is not healthy I know. I don't drink anymore so this is all I got.
It seems as if the universe is giving me sign after sign that I need to follow my passion for writing. Every TV show, every radio show, even commercials, keep reminding me that life is too short to waste.
Here is my goal, I am writing it down to visualize it. I will have an agent and my book will be published. People will read it. My memoir will rocket into the literary airspace and take the world by storm.
That is my dream. That will be my life.
Fuck the blahs. This IE girl wants to rock the casbah.