Writing

Last Friday night, Lawrence identified me as miserable.

And for the longest time, I didn't think I was. I mean, I was always stressful and of course some factors (like woman-related happenings) caused my mental state of miserable but I never thought I WAS MISERABLE.

He says it's because I'm not doing what I like.

Currently, I'm in the Accounts Payable line of business. This has something to do with Math and Accounting. This is ironic because I have evaded Math for as long as I can remember. (I have a theory regarding life's ironies, but I'll just blog about it some other time.)

It's been a while since I've written anything. I used to write all the time. And I mean ALL THE TIME. My attention's been called by my many, many, many annoyed teacher when I was writing essays while the class was going on. I use to just sit and then start writing my thoughts down--whether it be on my cellphone or on the back of a food receipt.

When I started working, I don't seem to have the time anymore. I used to wish that there could be a device which records my thoughts so that when I feel like writing, I don't actually have to write--I just think. And then words will immediately be recorded--which I can edit later on my laptop.

I miss writing because I miss making stories. I miss making fun of people or situations in a very subtle and unnoticed kind of way. I miss pouring my thoughts out without anyone contradicting me right in my face (unless the reader would actually come up to me and contradict what I wrote--which doesn't happen because I'm unpublished). I miss the sound of the excited tapping of the keyboard keys whenever I have something to say. And I miss the fact that my writing needs to keep up with my thoughts as they completely zoom in and zoom out on different stories, essays and other writing materials.

I have yet to write about the interesting ideas I have collected throughout my college years. I have yet to write about my opinions on the different places, food, cultures and experiences I have had for the past three years. I have yet to write about my thoughts on my current friendships, past and my hopes for the future.

Maybe Lawrence was right. Maybe I'm miserable. Because I just realize, I haven't been doing something that makes sense--makes me complete. For years, I have written everything down. Even the ugliest and worst essay I have ever read. Now, I write nothing.

This is just so sad.