Hello, World.
It's certainly been a while. There isn't gonna be a real topic here. I'm just gonna ramble a bit.
Life is certainly different than I expected it to be. When I was younger, I always thought that'd at the young age of 21, I'd be off at a university, studying and pursuing my choice of career, going off the make a difference in the wide world. A bit far fetched, but a reasonable goal. However, life had other plans for me.
Here I am. It's 5 until 2:00 AM, and tomorrow morning I'll receive a call telling me what building I'll be cleaning next. I get up some time later, around noon, to an empty house. As I wake up and shower, I tell myself I should prepare something to bring with me for dinner, but I always end up getting fast food from somewhere, and it hurts me knowing that I'm damaging my body this way. That probably sound a tad bit dramatic, but I'm not sure how else to put it. I've ate extremely unhealthy the past couple years, and I'm getting scared enough that I worry, but not enough that I change. I hate myself for it. I hope I can change soon.
Once I get ready and leave for work, I'll put on some music and day dream. I'll think of a story I thought up the other day and try to expand upon it, thinking about what the characters would look like, how they'd speak, the style of sound track to accompany it all.
When I finally arrive, I meet with the head custodian, the first person, and probably only person, I'll talk with that day, save the few, "Hellos" coming from various staff members. I'll get starting on clean, and within a couple hours, I'm left alone in a large building, under my care and supervision.
I'm supposed to clean for 7 hours, with 1 hour for breaks. But they never give me enough work to cover that all, considering I'm a substitute custodian. So it usually ends up being 6 hours of work. I pick up all the trash, clean the bathrooms, vacuums the rooms, mop the hallways, clean the windows, and lock up the building when I'm done.
By now it's 10:30. I'll hang around until 11:00 and then take off for home. Sometimes I'll drive slowly, watching the world pass by in a sea of red and blue, the soft music taking me somewhere away from the concrete jungle.
But sometimes I'll long for some excitement. Something different. I have done it in quite a while, but there's a road that's north of the town I live in. "River Road." It's a back road the swerves and curves along the Washougal river. If one were to follow the speed limit, it would take approximately 20 minutes to reach home from the beginning of the road. I've done it in half the time. I blast my music and focus, feeling the road wrap around me, feeling the sway of the car and finding the optimal speed and turn to make it around the bend. It's dangerous, but exhilarating.
Arriving at home, I quietly enter a silent house, all it's members already asleep. I grab some food, a drink, take my pills, and head to my room, where I'll sit and kill time for a couple hours until my eyes begin to droop. I wonder when I'll be able to make a change in my life and pursue something bigger.
Then the next day arrives and I repeat this vicious cycle.
I think I've really dramatized the way my day goes. It's weird. I both love to dramatize my writing, but I also feel like if I do, I'm sort of just begging for attention. "Look at my grand writing! Take pity on my life and how I live!" I guess I'm just grown insecure when it comes to expressing myself. I hope doing some writing like this will help me get past that.
I really didn't write all the much just now. But I'm glad I wrote something. I've completely lost my will to write, and I hate it. I have so many ideas and stories in my head I want to express and share, but my will is gone. I'd like to see it come back, but only time will tell what'll happen next. I'll try writing some more within the next couple days. Maybe if I start to write more often, it'll become easier.
I guess well find out.
Life is certainly different than I expected it to be. When I was younger, I always thought that'd at the young age of 21, I'd be off at a university, studying and pursuing my choice of career, going off the make a difference in the wide world. A bit far fetched, but a reasonable goal. However, life had other plans for me.
Here I am. It's 5 until 2:00 AM, and tomorrow morning I'll receive a call telling me what building I'll be cleaning next. I get up some time later, around noon, to an empty house. As I wake up and shower, I tell myself I should prepare something to bring with me for dinner, but I always end up getting fast food from somewhere, and it hurts me knowing that I'm damaging my body this way. That probably sound a tad bit dramatic, but I'm not sure how else to put it. I've ate extremely unhealthy the past couple years, and I'm getting scared enough that I worry, but not enough that I change. I hate myself for it. I hope I can change soon.
Once I get ready and leave for work, I'll put on some music and day dream. I'll think of a story I thought up the other day and try to expand upon it, thinking about what the characters would look like, how they'd speak, the style of sound track to accompany it all.
When I finally arrive, I meet with the head custodian, the first person, and probably only person, I'll talk with that day, save the few, "Hellos" coming from various staff members. I'll get starting on clean, and within a couple hours, I'm left alone in a large building, under my care and supervision.
I'm supposed to clean for 7 hours, with 1 hour for breaks. But they never give me enough work to cover that all, considering I'm a substitute custodian. So it usually ends up being 6 hours of work. I pick up all the trash, clean the bathrooms, vacuums the rooms, mop the hallways, clean the windows, and lock up the building when I'm done.
By now it's 10:30. I'll hang around until 11:00 and then take off for home. Sometimes I'll drive slowly, watching the world pass by in a sea of red and blue, the soft music taking me somewhere away from the concrete jungle.
But sometimes I'll long for some excitement. Something different. I have done it in quite a while, but there's a road that's north of the town I live in. "River Road." It's a back road the swerves and curves along the Washougal river. If one were to follow the speed limit, it would take approximately 20 minutes to reach home from the beginning of the road. I've done it in half the time. I blast my music and focus, feeling the road wrap around me, feeling the sway of the car and finding the optimal speed and turn to make it around the bend. It's dangerous, but exhilarating.
Arriving at home, I quietly enter a silent house, all it's members already asleep. I grab some food, a drink, take my pills, and head to my room, where I'll sit and kill time for a couple hours until my eyes begin to droop. I wonder when I'll be able to make a change in my life and pursue something bigger.
Then the next day arrives and I repeat this vicious cycle.
I think I've really dramatized the way my day goes. It's weird. I both love to dramatize my writing, but I also feel like if I do, I'm sort of just begging for attention. "Look at my grand writing! Take pity on my life and how I live!" I guess I'm just grown insecure when it comes to expressing myself. I hope doing some writing like this will help me get past that.
I really didn't write all the much just now. But I'm glad I wrote something. I've completely lost my will to write, and I hate it. I have so many ideas and stories in my head I want to express and share, but my will is gone. I'd like to see it come back, but only time will tell what'll happen next. I'll try writing some more within the next couple days. Maybe if I start to write more often, it'll become easier.
I guess well find out.
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