Last night, one of my better friends, best friend to be honest, commented on how my posts had been a bit "melancholy." So I've decided to focus on something other than blue thoughts, and move right onto the next one. Fear. ONE WEEK AND I"M ANOTHER YEAR OLDER. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. Eh! whatever. Another year is another year.
This year I've actually planned on hosting a dinner party to celebrate my birthday, I figure actually giving a rats ass about it, might make me more jovial and upbeat about the way things are. If not, then I'll just be further into the hole, and probably watch myself grow quickly inebriated and fall down :D. I've invited a small gathering of people who for one, I think will actually show up, and two, who I'd like to see. One of them being my ex, but honestly I couldn't type the conflicting emotional baggage that is. But me trying to be the better person, and remain friends, has forced me to invite him/ I wanted to see him. The night has two options, a nice quiet evening where things are fine, or a yelling frenzy, in which case it might feel more like home.
I'm at a crossroads right now, not just in emotion, but also in housing. That same friend who said I was being a whiny doleful git has also offered me a free ride down to the CITY. And damned if I'm actually not trying to see if I could do it. New York, it's kind of the place for me. It's big, I can get lost so easily, but it's filled with possibility and adventure. I haven't made any legitimate plans at the moment, but I am seriously contemplating this action. It's hard to imagine somedays, if only cause, this could probably be the most daring escapade that I've even thought of undertaking.
Even while I sit here, the main reason it's so hard to not want to do it. Shit like that, just fleeing with no money, no hope, but just the damn dream that you can. That's what novels are made of. That's what real writers dream of everyday. So what does that make me?