did the first person biting into a fortune cookie know there was going to be some paper shit in there

Pointless Concerns

I am always so worried about my creativity disappearing. Like, what if one day I wake up and can’t draw? At all?

I’m terrified that’s already happened. I’m also terrified that it’s because I haven’t gone to college. I’ve traveled the world, worked crappy jobs, had a dream wedding, and have been married for like, seven  months, but for some reason I feel like that’s not enough. Especially the traveling bit – it took me so long to come to terms with the fact that maybe I didn’t do everything I felt I should, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t get shit done, you know?

But man, I’ve waxed and waned oh so poetically about my possible loss of creativity, and I just want to be done. I want to be motivated to draw, and write, and dance, and run, and make a little music every day. I want to be motivated enough to actually learn Spanish. I want to get over my fear of debt for life and total failure and actually apply for scholarships and schools and just go. I want to be an art student, but I also want to be a bad ass investigator or something so I want to stop caring if my art is good enough and just make art for my love of it and study hard to become the bad ass investigator or international diplomat or whatever I want to be.

Shoot. I just realized something.

I don’t actually want to make a career out of my creativity, and I think I’m okay with that for the first time in my life.

I don’t have to make being creative how I support myself, I can be creative just because I want to and I need to get something out. And I can always do that, no matter what. And I can pursue a more intellectual career, and I won’t be betraying my little artist’s soul, so long as it doesn’t prevent my from generally being creative.

I can do what I want, and by choosing one thing it doesn’t mean I’m forgetting or excluding the other.

Huh. I should write more often. It really helps me think.

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I’m the worst. By which I mean awesome.

I have a million things running through my mind going at a frantic, non-stop pace that should probably qualify me as asylum worthy but for some reason has yet to visibly imbalance me that much on the outside. That or I’m so crazy I don’t realize that this isn’t reality and I actually am in an asylum. But I’m also really happy with my scatter brained existence so I guess I don’t care? Is that bad? Shouldn’t I care if I’m actually insane? Oh golly maybe I do. If I’m genuinely insane then I could wake up at any moment and everything here will go away and my life is really going good at the moment so I really don’t want that to happen. Oh gosh I hope this is the really real reality because if it’s not then I’m going to miss my fiancée so much and it’s going to really freak him out if I start acting like we’re engaged in this other actual reality if we aren’t in both.

SEE. GADZOOKS, I WAS GOING TO WRITE ABOUT MY WEDDING PLANS OR ACCOUNTABILITY OR SOME NICE SHIT AND HERE I AM DISCUSSING MY POTENTIAL SANITY. I SWEAR MY BRAIN IS ON CRACK COCAINE.

This is why myself and 90% of the world’s population are probably concerned about my impending marriage. I still do things like climb on roofs just to prove I can and graffiti the notices around work to change them from things like “Amanda Wisely bought a 5 Cheese Pizza.” to “Amanda UNWisely bought a 5 Cheese Pizza.
And I sprayed spittle all over the youth Pastor’s husband just because he told me not to.

Yeah.

I’m getting married in T-Minus 41 days.

Awesome.