RandoVentThoughts With No Other Place to Go

Sometimes I have a randovent-day.   That’s where I just want to rant about stuff in my journal-blogging kind of way.

My plan for today is once I’m done at the gym, (yah I’m on the treadmill again while writing this) to head home and just spend the entire day immersed in my older writing. One, I’m tired of these huge piles of paper everywhere but I want to go through it for other reasons too.  I want to revisit what drove me to write back then, back then being when I was 7 or 14 or 24…

I’m trying to figure out what I wanna be when I grow up, again.  Grrr, I go through this at least once every three months.  Last night, my roommate *(who’s a chef) questioned my choice of course for January.  Why take cooking when I show no culinary creativity at home?  Sadly, I do agree with her.  So what?  Was I just taking a college course again cause I feel like I had to?  I didn’t want to waste another two years and god knows how much cash to take a course that isn’t really what I’m supposed to be doing.  How do you know what you’re supposed to do though?  Maybe being 33 and not having much direction in life is starting to freak me out a little.  I don’t know what to think at the moment.

Don’t think, just walk and  just keep writing.

I used to write a lot of journal entries, stuff like that helped me keep what little sanity my brain had left.  I find piles and piles of thoughts thrown onto paper over the course of a lifetime.  What’s in all that, do I want to know?  Do I really want to relive the shit I put myself through growing up? Will knowing that or remembering any of it help me now?  I suppose it’s what I would need to write an autobiography, even though my moments in life aren’t crazy-amazing-like compared to others, I still have a story to tell.

So on other matters, like the birthfather fiasco (I have personally elevated it to a fiasco as of this morning), he’s apparently only found our about me two weeks ago. Someone had to have told him and that’s not cool.  What right does this person have saying anything to him. It’s been 33 years and the someone fucks everything up in what .. One sentence? Idiots!

So he knows about me, but so do his kids.  My birthmother is getting the shit end of the stick here, why?  All because she made THE RIGHT decision back when I was born, to give me away.   The gossip stems from the fact that its a little town and people have nothing Bette to do than talk about others… I’m sure all those talking about this have lived perfect lives…? I doubt it, but what can you do?

Whatever… I don’t have time for this.  It just sucks cause something I thought was a good thing, ends up leaving feelings hurt in the wake.

The gym helps,  as soon as I got here I felt better. The only stress here is what I do to myself not what others do.

I like it here. It’s simple. Life should be like this…


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