Honestly, it's probably something silly, but I'm just sitting here at like midnite thinking about this past weekend, when I went home for the first time since choosing to move to Macomb.
I find it so unfair that to make myself happy I have to make myself hurt so badly. My parents make it very difficult to make the choices I can see will be good for me, because choosing that path seems to mean that I'm turning my back on my family. Ask them and they will say different, but that is what they make it feel like. I don't know what to think about how my parents deal with me growing up. All I know is that right now I am fighting to keep myself from falling into that feeling alone summer that I have had so many times already.
I feel like spewing this out into a blog is asking for attention, but no one reads this so maybe it's just the materials I had at hand. And that is what a writer does, right? I will be one someday, I hope, if I can ever make myself focus on my writing enough to actually do something with it. For now, I work at Wally World where I apparently work too well even after taking it down a notch. I'm not complaining because it's an income, which allows to to be in a town that I've fallen in love with and to make this leap to be my own person.
I know that change is good, says the butterfly as she stretches her wings. But why does it have to hurt so much, every time? And why does the cocoon that holds everything she has known always have to be left behind?
~JKRent
