I write because

I write because...well, I haven't written in a very long time. I'm constantly referring to myself as a writer, but I don't feel like I have the proof to back it up. A writer writes--end of story. So I guess that in writing now, I feel as though I am proving myself. Why? Because I seem to have this unnatural desire to be defined by what I do and not by what I am. Now that I just wrote that, I feel quite pitiful, but I guess that it's all a part of what it means to be human. So let's be serious: I'm sad.

I'm sad because I'm leaving in just 6 more days. I'm leaving this town for greener pastures...or hills. That seems to be what they have in Washington D.C.. Of course, I'm excited and glad at the same time. I love the idea of starting my new life and I'm pretty sure that I'll like the manifestation of this idea once I am there, but for the moment it plagues me. In speaking to a friend today, I realized that I won't be able to spend time with those that I want to spend time with before I leave. People tell me that it's always like that, that that is how it is. I guess that's true. Maybe I waited too long. For a while I've been saying that I have to tie up some loose ends. If it were shoes that I was referring to, then it would have proved a very simple task. But this time, it's not even about a tangible object. Now, I'm talking about human relationships, the affairs of both the mind and the body. How can I expect to "tie up" these things? They're never truly resolved, right? When you break up with someone, you never forget them, right? At some point in the future, you'll look back on all that you've been through and those people who touched your life, for better or for worse, will always come to mind. In that respect, immortality truly does exist.

I can't sleep...or rather, I don't sleep. Ironically though, I canceled my appointment to visit someone to discuss my sleeping problems. Mainly, it's because of money issues. I can't afford it right now, even though it's only 39 dollars with my health insurance. We're poor and college will only make us more so. But maybe it's better this way. I have to figure this out on my own. A lot has been on my mind but nothing is wrong with it...my mind, that is. I don't think I'm bipolar, as my doctor suggested the other day. A part of me wants to be it, though: then I could put another label on some bizarre trait of mine. I don't want to be in denial, as I often am. Maybe people would look at me differently if I was.

Appearances are important to me, I won't deny that. There will be more later about this...I don't feel like writing anymore. If I continue, then I'll risk sounding pretentious, which apparently, I often seem to do. (Well, at least to myself.)