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This is the first entry of what I hope will become an interesting representation of my day-to-day life and the workings of my mind. Both, might I add have their highs and lows.
Lets see…
I’m not a genius, I don’t have the answers to all of life’s questions or anything, in fact I don’t have any of them. I’m just a twenty-one year old who still thinks she’s a kid and doesn’t have any idea what to do with herself. I’m not driven to do anything, really.
When my best friend decided that she wanted to be a marine biologist and went off to college in Hawaii, I stayed in NYC because I still held on to my childhood dream of being a rock star. When all of my friends were graduating college, I’d just pawned my guitar for cash to buy photography equipment for my newfound dream of being a photographer. I’ve never finished anything in my entire life. After photography I went through a faze in which I wanted to try my hand at sculpting, now my clay and other equipment are safely packed away in the downstairs closet.
I’ve been working on a novel for three years now; I’m afraid it won’t ever be finished. My soul keeps changing on me before I can get to page 113. With my soul goes my inspiration…with my inspiration goes my interest…and with my interest goes my ability to write. The never-ending story, indeed.
I’m the middle child. I have jealousy issues, abandonment issues, and I’m self-conscious. I never feel loved enough. I’ve butchered quite a few relationships with all of the emotional baggage I’ve packed over the years. I want to be loved, and as selfish as it is I want to be loved completely, utterly, without reason, and without any thought or care. I suppose I want to be worshipped.
I’m Puerto Rican, Cuban, and Indian. I have race issues. I usually feel like a piece of stretched rope in a game of tug-o-war between the two sides of my family and I don’t feel like I truly have a race. My little sister identifies with our Puerto Rican side, my older brother with our nonexistent African-American side and I with no side in particular.
I’m absolutely eclectic…I listen to everything from Janis Joplin and Joan Baez to The All-American Rejects, TI, and the Terror Squad. I have no boundaries…well, except for British rap. I stay clear away from it…a girls gotta draw the line somewhere.
I can’t keep a job. I just hate work. So much so, that a friend, my sister and I were going to try our hand at telling and acting out stories in Central Park to try and pay our way through life. I know a guy who gave guitar lessons there (he taught me). He has no hours, and you pay him as you see fit. Of course there is a very morbid black lining on his bright cloud of life…he’s homeless. So perhaps that’s not exactly the best role model for me.
That’s it for now. I suppose that when I figure out what I’m going to do with my crumby life…you’ll all be the first to know. Whoever actually reads this crap.
This will most likely be a writing journal. A place that I post fanfics and pieces of my own writings.
The Original,
BlueBohemian
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tired
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