All The Posts I Was Supposed to Write

I've been on a bit of a writing hiatus the past 6 months or so. I think, mainly, because I'm uncomfortable with many of my thoughts and therefore, unsure about immortalizing them in the printed word - either shared or privately. It's as if, if I don't record them, they don't exist and then I don't have to deal with how confusing they are.

So, what's so wrong with where my head's been at? Nothing. It's all normal, nearly 30, contemplating the universe, the same old bs... But I don't like questioning myself and how I went from there to here and what the next square target should be. I much prefer being in the know. Yeah, don't we all? Instead, I'm thinking about the painful, overwhelming passing of time, and that facts that...

I started college 10 years ago. I have 2 classes left and will be done with grad school. I haven't talked to my brother in at least 7 months. My sister in at least 4. I am in debt to the tune of a figure that if I typed it would make me throw up. I have lived in South Florida for 4 years and 8 months -- some of that time I was happy. I have spent the past 25 years contemplating the universe and still don't seem to have any answers. 9 years ago I lived in a house I hated, but the summer was beautiful there -- since then I have had progressively more and more intense feelings of uncertainty about the future. I have been an adult -- on my own and unsure -- for 8 full years, but I still feel like I'm 15 and that any minute, as summer sets in, I'm going to drive to Bubbling Brook, sit on the back of a car, eat ice cream and talk until curfew about love without fear.

I used to believe in such things. I really did. Now I am walled up and afraid. So much so, that I don't like writing things down.