Cody is sick. He has been in bed since he got off work at 5pm. He told me to wake him up around 8pm but I didn't. He needs to sleep. He’s such a hard worker that he never gets enough sleep. He’ll be mad in the morning but he’ll feel so much better.
Is it bad that most times that I write on here it is because I feel so “ugh” and I need a release? I hate that you all might think that I talk about how hard my life is or how much I wish for this and that. But lately I have been feeling just that.
I remember the days when all I wanted to do was move to new york, live in a beat up apartment just to be creative. I wanted that rush it would feel like to be up to my elbows in paint, write for days and take pictures of my soul for my soul. I miss those thoughts. I wish I was brave enough to do it. Oh, how I wish.
I get into this “funk” at night where I feel it in the pit of my stomach, the yearning to be creative. but then I look around at my dirty little apartment with no room and my soul cries. I want a work space. I want days where I can do nothing but be artistic. I want to be able to forget about work, pile Wyatt into the car and head out and explore with no rules.
Is that to much too ask for?
I want to teach Wyatt the importance of being free, artistic, soul searching artistic. I want him to be brave. A lot braver than I was to reach for those dreams I hope he has and just go for them. I get so stuck in this “now” world that everything that does stirs me, makes my heart beat gets left behind and then I feel like I feel today, sad.
Sad, that I am not that person I created in my mind when I was 16 full of life and prepared to take on the world.
I am sad.
That's, what I am. A sad soul.
I cry, a lot at night on my lonely computer desk writing away while erasing a lot of what I type because I say it too many times or I am afraid to show you, to tell you, all the people out there that I am fraud and that all the things that happened to me when I was younger take a lot more out of me then I want it too.
I am afraid because my family reads this. (most of them) and I don't want them to be offended or embarrass of what I wish I could say.
Why cant I seem to clearly write about it, allow it to be fully out there and why cant I be washed away from the pain of it.
I pretend to be strong a lot more than you know and it hurts that it never goes away.
Its okay. Tomorrow I’ll plan on doing nothing but loving Wyatt, cleaning my apartment and hopefully creating some type of art so it will calm my soul.
