Remarkably Unremarkable

Five months ago, after finally graduating from college - a journey that threatened to span a decade, but thankfully consumed just 6 years of my life  - I decided to quit my long-time, lame-ass receptionist job, and passionately throw myself into... well, nothing. I had no career plans, no serious ambitions to fulfill or dreams to chase. My plan was to relax a little, dabble in new and exciting extracurriculars, and generally just take a breather. Living off of a dwindling line of credit, but an ever-supportive boyfriend, I'd have plenty of time to say, write a book. Or learn how to knit. Or start a garden. Or even, I don't know, find a career. Or BLOG, for crying out loud! But what have I done? Nothing.

My no-plan plan was that, after a few short months, I'd buckle down and get serious. But after some five, rather long months of listlessly occupying my days with unremarkable activities, this is the first time I've exercised that costly writing degree. Or my brain, for that matter.

I find myself lost. And full of contradiction. Sometimes I feel like the sky is the limit; other times I feel like the sky is falling. I alternate between contentment and panic that I having nothing to do. I thank my lucky stars that I'm able to sit back and enjoy life. Then I wonder who the hell I think I am, just sitting back and enjoying life. I'm a frickin' desperate housewife, albeit a very poor, not-so-glamorous one.

So now what? I want to be something in this world. I want to be better. Remarkable, even. And right now the only thing remarkable about me is how many pounds of food I can consume in one day. I'm remarkably unremarkable. And full of self-loathing.

I've been meaning to start a blog for quite some time. In fact, I started this blog over a year ago and have done nothing with it. I keep thinking that if I could just start writing again that I'd find myself in a better place, if only psychologically speaking. But confusion and self-doubt contaminate my thoughts - I struggle with what to write and how to write it, and the uncertainty is so uncomfortable that I've just put off thinking about it altogether.  The "blank page" has always been my worst enemy, now more so than ever, since I've yet to write anything since completing school.

My solution: befriend the blank page. Seduce it. Coax it into submission.

And you know what? I already feel better.