I'm sure there's a hormonal reason I get like this. I might have too much starch in my diet. Maybe it's because I always talk about things and rarely do them. It could be because I'm a cracked record. It always seems to come at a point where, essentially, nothing is wrong. Life could be a whole lot worse. Life could be a whole lot better.
I just - ugh. There are so many things I want to be and so many ways in which I fail, it's quite terrifying really. And the worst thing is that I always know when I'm doing something to play up that part of me. Because I know that I am the answer to any problems I perceive myself having - no-one else. I cannot rely upon another person for what I need.
Yes, it would be lovely if there was someone with whom I felt the kind of connection I idealise, but since there's obviously not, I can't continue to pin anything on that concept. And if I feel disconnected or cut off from the world, that's my own fucking fault for not getting out there and doing things, yeah? So complaining about it, as I so badly want to do, is automatically a problematic action. So. Whinge. I am lonely. Rah. I want someone to love me. Wah. I want to love someone back. Whine.
Then there are my fears about teaching. And my hopes to be a writer. And they're tied together in so many ways. They both require me to step forward. They both require skills of mine which aren't entirely there yet. They both give me a constant source of deep confusion, except when I am enacting them, and then they give me a deep sense of contentment.
Teaching is worrisome not only because I have to learn so much, but because jobs aren't guaranteed. It's all hovering just out of reach. I've almost finished the course, and unless something goes terribly remiss, I'm pretty sure I'm going to pass - so I'll be qualified as a teacher. I'm already registered with DECS. Now I just need to be registered with the Teacher's Registration Board. I've already applied for jobs. I shall continue to do so through DECS, and if that doesn't succeed, I'll be substitute/relief teaching - which is a scary enough thought in itself, since I will have to approach schools personally to ask to teach there - but that's not until January. There's this long, long waiting period there which is hanging in the ether.
Writing is... God, writing is currently eating my soul. When I'm not writing, I want to be writing, and I'm thinking about writing, and I'm thinking about how I miss the mark in so many ways and I'm obsessing over how I can be funnier and more mature and poignant and good. It's ridiculous. I do not think I am a bad writer. I don't. But at the same time, I don't think I'm especially great by any stretch of the imagination. And I want to be. I really, really do. I know that these things take time. And yes, I know there are a few things I should be doing in order to achieve my goals. And yes, I know that I should be concentrating more on the profession which will actually earn me money.
So, hi. This is me. I'm a stupidly honest person, with myself and with others. I'm an obvious attention seeking glutton with a thousand insecurities and an ego which is both a square tonne in size and made of fragile crystal.
Whenever I write one of these posts, I tell myself never again. As it is, there's no such thing as never.