Two years...

Wow. I can't believe that it's been two years.

And I can't believe how much the layout of this damn thing has changed.

Since I was really young, I wanted to be an actress. Even before that, I remember enjoying the spotlight within my comfort zone.

Things have since then changed. For one, I recognize now that perhaps I need a little bit of a better back up plan--especially to keep me in the style to which I have grown accustomed (my mother's own words).

But every now and then... I really do wish that I could have just my quick five minutes of fame. (See, I think 15 minutes are way too long; that's when the paparazzi start hounding you and ruining your life. Just a few interviews here and there. That's all I would like...)

I still hold out for Broadway--even though there is NO way I am anywhere near as good enough for singing or dancing. I'm a decent enough singer... But dancing? HA. That's a damn joke.

I'm happy to where life has taken me. I'm happy with the decisions I've made... more or less. But every now and then I wish that I had a more free-spirited side. The kind of side that would be out in the snow right now (my first snow fall in Jersey) dancing and enjoying it instead of sitting on this super duper awesome reclining couch watching season 4 of the Vampire Diaries.

I miss writing. I wrote (well... started anyway) a fanfiction in my artic and phonetics class a couple weeks ago (because that class is TORTURE for me). What the fuck happened to my creativity and my flow? I used to have this compulsion to write every day. Okay, so life took off. Okay, so I no longer want to be an author for a living. I've tried to sit down for months--if not years--to write something. And there's just something stuck there, blocking me.

I hate that life took off. I hate that the peak of my writing took place during my high school years because suddenly now there are "better" things to do. I have to clean, I have to cook, I have to go to class, I have to DO WELL in class (ha, funny, because I FAILED that quiz on Tuesday). I have to talk to my family. I have to buy groceries. I have to do laundry. I have to still somehow relax--which has now become watching TV shows and having a few glasses of wine.

What the fuck happened to me? I think the ninth grade version of me would be mildly disgusted.

And yet, conversely, I'm disgusted with the ninth grade version of me.

It's an interesting turn of events, where my life has gone. The different trials that pop up at times. For instance, I used to hate chapter and listening to my chapter bitch and whine and moan. And now I would give anything to go back and enjoy that more. Take way more advantage of it.

I'm still determined to write something that will get published--not counting that LAME poem I wrote in 8th grade (gosh, Mrs. Ring; what were you THINKING?).

It's kind of weird. I feel like I have to make some sort of impression on the world in SOME sort of way. And even though I know that it more than likely won't be on the scale of Ghandi or Princess Di, etc., I still feel that there's something great that I'm destined for.

Eventually...?

Hmm.