all my life, i’ve been running towards something. I’ve never been able to really clarify what it was i was running to. anyone that has come in contact with me has always expressed that i was impatient. impatient about something — what i’ve never known.
sometimes, as i look in the mirror, and i see my self, i don’t see me. i don’t see what i should be seeing and i certainly don’t think i look close to 30 —
it’s like, i always expected they would give you a set of instructions when you became an adult. kind of like you’ll stop wearing this and that and you’ll act this or that away. but it’s not like that. when i turned 20, i automatically assumed i would stop getting zits — because i was no longer a teenager. i was wrong — i still got them monthly when my period kicked in. my mother, at 57 still gets acne on occasion.
that is what confuses me so much — partly because i count the years and i know my chronological age — which doesn’t add up my emotional age. shelly once said that one of my greatest problems is that i will always think i am 17 — that i would never ever grow up.
in a lot of ways, she’s right. i know a lot more know than i did when i was 17. but, the overall feeling of who and what i am, is still the same.
i’m impatient. i’m moving in less than a month and i can’t wait to leave. it’s like everyday is slowing down to an inexcusable crawl. i do nothing at work (i won’t quit and they won’t fire me — we are at a stalemate) but IRC and dig for MP3s. I come home and IRC and do email or whatever is available. I don’t watch tv, I don’t read as much as I should. I don’t do a lot of things. I’m afraid of getting involved locally around here because i don’t want to invest time when i know i’m leaving.