KRISTINA BROWNING

Today is May 4th, insert bad Star Wars pun here, and I’m sitting in my room thinking about the future and what the hell it is I plan on doing with my life, which, you guessed it, I have no fucking clue.  The idea of college kind of came and went when I decided to reject all of my acceptance letters, which in the eyes of many is the biggest mistake I will ever make and they may be right about that, but who cares what they think, really.  I don’t believe the fact that I put off wasting 20 grand a year on a major I’ll probably hate in the end is that big of deal.  School will always be there for me to go back to, but the things I have in mind for myself now will not.  I’ve been writing a lot more lately which is seemingly putting me in a better mood and also giving my mind a much needed rest as I’ve had so many thoughts and ideas floating around in it for quite some time.  It’s so odd to be typing out certain things for anyone and everyone to read online and not really caring about what they have to say about it, but then also having a notebook full of the inner workings of my mind, knowing there’s a good chance I’ll never show them to anyone.  There’s such a delicate balance between what people should know and what should never be known by anyone, except possibly a person you trust with every fiber of your being, and since I’ve yet to find a person like that, my writing has become increasingly divided, much like my feelings about the future.  

Why is it that the things from my past and the things yet to happen in the future always seem more important/interesting than what’s happening in the present time?  It’s like I’m craving what once was and what may never be instead of appreciating what’s here, right now, in front of me.  Perhaps it’s a defense mechanism to keep both pain and happiness at bay because pain, once felt, never seems to leave and happiness never seems to stay.　

It would seem lately that it’s easier for me to write works of fiction than it is for me to write about my own life.  I can’t decide if it’s because of a block of emotion in my writing lately or if my life is just that uninteresting, but it’s frustrating nonetheless.  I leave for Pennsylvania Sunday night to visit some family and friends that I haven’t seen in months and I haven’t even thought about packing.  It’s not that I’m not excited to go, I’m just the type of person that leaves important things for the last minute which, as a result, usually winds up with me fucking myself over in the end. In other news, it’s Friday the 13th, my favorite day of the year, and I’m sat in my room, listening to music, trying to write my thoughts down and it’s just not working as well as I had hoped.  I’ve been forcing myself to write everyday, even if it’s just a sentence, because it’s the only thing that let’s me express myself without having to actually say how I’m feeling out loud.  This past week consisted of catching up with Mallory and Christine as both of them start Spring Break next week and I won’t see them, as well as trying to prepare for my trip.  I’ll most likely end up writing a more detailed post when I get back, but for now this will have to do.