I live in a small southern Oklahoma town.  I grew up here.  Wasn’t born here.  But I love this town.  Always have.  Most people, unless you grew up down here, you’ve probably never even heard of this town.  The population, might be, 2,616 – if you’re lucky.  I was born in a town of 194,000.  I’m scared to leave.  I use family as the excuse to not leaving.  I cannot do what I want to do here.  There is no where I can do what I want.  But.. I’m scared to move away.  I’m afraid I will miss something here.  & the only family member I have left, that I’m really close to, I’m afraid something will happen.

I look at the whole picture.  I want to be a writer.  I’ll never become one here.  Ever.  I can write.  Write.  & write until I bleed through my fingertips.  Living here, I’ll never become one.  There are no opportunities here.

Before my dad passed away last year he told me more than once to leave Oklahoma.  That he really believes I deserve more than what I can accomplish here.  I have a dream that every morning I wake up & go to work.  I show up in nice clothes, hair nicely done.  On my way I swing by a small coffee shop & pick me up hot chocolate (I don’t like coffee) & a muffin.  I show up at my “office”, sit down at a desk, & I write.  I type out article by article & argue with myself on which one I”ll let them publish.  Because the third one sucks.

But I live my life on fears.  I’m scared to leave.  I’m scared to leave what I know for the unknown.  I’m scared to leave every here because I am comfortable here.  I feel if I were to leave that someone here would need me.  Or if I go then I’ll never get to see anybody anymore.  Even though I know I could come on weekends.  Or leave & be worse off then I am now & never achieve anything anyway.

I mean even if I decided to go.  Just leave.  It would be a while.  I want to finish college first.  Need an education to work at McDonald’s.  I have things to do before I go, but after I get a college degree, then what?  Stay here & work at the Casino the rest of my life because it’s a job?  Never go anywhere or do anything I really want to do because my life right now is comfortable.

But… I’m scared.

I went to my first rock concert last night.  Yup.  Seriously.  I’ll be 25 in two months & I went to my first rock concert.  “Rock”.  I’ve been to country.  *gags*

Before the concert started two girls were arrested for hitting police.  Yep.  Seriously.  For some reason, I didn’t expect that from that particular concert.

What concert?  Blink 182.  Woo!

Those little twelve, and thirteen year old kids crack me up.  They swear up & down that they grew up with them when in reality, the only reason they know who they are is because of people my age.  Nothing else.  They had a close up of Mark & my heart broke, didn’t realize how old he has gotten.

It was by far one of the best nights in a while.  I enjoyed it.  Woo!

******

I was so worn out last night by 11 at night I was out.  Got home & got something to eat & passed out.  I was so sore.  & I’m not sure why.  I was so out that I ended up having a dream of my story.  Wrote a full chapter in my head.  Yep.  Seriously.  Even woke up a few times writing it in my head.  But I wanted to finish the chapter.  I wanted to see how it ended.

Guess what?!

Yeah.  That’s right.  I forgot it.

I remember the basis of what the chapter was about.  & I pretty much can still see it playing in my head.  But the words I was using I cannot remember.  Or how I even worded it.  I might sit down & make notes.  Maybe figure it out.

Wish me luck.

Not really.

I cannot afford a trip to Guam.  I can barely afford groceries.  Okay.  I can’t afford groceries.  That’s because I’m poor.  Yeah.  I said it.  Online.  Stuck forever.  But I am.

I decided to give back the refrigerator I was paying for.  100$ more a month.  Then I can buy groceries.  Where will I put them?  In the refrigerator that I am buying from a friend.  It’s old.  Yellow.  But… it works.  So I’m happy.

I’m thinking about getting rid of my television that sits in my bedroom.  That would be another 50$.  But then again I don’t want to.  Confusion.

I was sitting here thinking about writing & began reading through blogs.  Found a couple I like.  Follow?  Check!  I barely get sign onto this anymore because I just don’t have anything to read.  No inspiration.  I have no inspiration for much.  Mostly writing.  W-R-I-T-I-N-G.

I read a post about ‘dream jobs’ & that many people ‘settle’ with jobs just because they can get the job.  I have done that.  Sort of.  I like my job.  At a casino.  Sitting in front of a computer.  But my passion will always lie with writing.  It’s been my passion since I was in fifth grade when I wrote my very first poem & got an A because my teacher LOVED it.  Now that I think back on the poem it was silly.  What did it say?

Friends.
I have so many friends,
There all so mean,
I don’t know which one I like best.
They’re all so nice,
They’re all so mean,
They’re all so hyper,
Just like me.

Just to make a point, I actually forgot the second line of that just now.  I had to think hard.  (Most of my life I have forgotten.)

When I first entered college I was going to get a degree in English.  Keep going & get a degree in journalism.  I talked to someone about that idea & for some reason I let them talk me out of it.  A semester later I changed my degree plans to business management.  I don’t want to be someone’s boss.  I could care less – honestly, if I was to ever be able to stick my finger in someone’s face & tell them “you’re stupid & doing it all wrong”.  (Yes, I realized that AFTER I went out for supervisor at my job.)  I want to write.  I want to write.  I want to write.  I want to write.

I was told once that I only want to write to make loads of money.  Just so every one knows, most writers are NEVER published.  That will be me.  I will never be published.  I don’t have the inspiration to finish something I begin to write.  One of these day’s I suppose.

But a couple things I’ve noticed in the last few years:

EVERYONE wants to be a novelist & be published & make bookoo’s of money.  (Unless you’re lucky enough to write something like Twilight or Harry Potter – that is crap.)

Most people begin writing in their 20’s, finally get a break & get published in their 40’s.  (I’ve been writing since I was 12.  Maybe my break will be sooner than my 40’s.)

Writing is hard.  (A bunch of blah’s together with a period doesn’t work.)

Writing is really hard.

I decided that I would try & take my job a little further.  Instead of just sitting at a desk in front of computers I wanted to try & go out for supervisor.  I filled out the application, got an interview – thought I done really well.  I dressed nice.  Took out my tongue ring.  Fixed my hair.  Done my make up.  Showed up nearly fifteen minutes early.  Spoke in complete sentences.  Never said ‘uh’, ‘but’, or paused for a really long time.  I really believed I had a shot.  Apparently, I did something stupid.  Or something.  I’m not sure.  They don’t tell things like that.  I went to work Saturday & in my box was a rejection letter :

Dear Barbara,

Thank you for applying for the position.  But right now, you suck.

Boo you!

Peace.

Signed,
Your Boss.

Is that honestly what it said?  Of course not.

Ever since I got the rejection I’ve been trying to think of reasons why it’s a good thing.  I couldn’t really think of any.  I really, really wanted that job.  Bad.  I haven’t wanted something that bad in a while.  Except one thing.

…to finish my story.

Maybe that’s why I didn’t get it.  & even if it’s not true.  But what a thought.. didn’t get something like that & then get a burst of inspiration for my story?  Think about it.  Everyone says that everything happens for a reason.  Maybe.. just maybe… I didn’t get the job because ‘fate’ wants me to finish my story once & for all.

Will it happen?

I really hope so.

Today would be my mothers 50th birthday.

She was 40 years old when she died.  I was 15.  It has taken sometime to think about it without wanting to cry.  It has been nearly 10 years.  It doesn’t seem like it.  April of next year will be 10 years.

She would be freaking out.  I remember when she turned 40.  It brought her to tears many times.  She kept saying that she was closer to death.  She was scared to get older.  But who would have ever thought that she may have known something that we didn’t.  She turned 40, July 19m 2002 & passed away April 10, 2003.

I had actually forgot what today was until I talked to my brother.  After a while when something breaks your heart you try & forget about it.  I succeeded.  We usually go on vacation this week.  In 2002, our last family vacation, we went to Kissimmee, Florida.  Got to walk around Walt Disney World & have a bird poop on my head.  It was one of the best vacations we ever had.  Or at least one of them.

I miss her like crazy.

I used to be a big blogger.  Would blog all the time.  Then I stopped.

I made this account a long time ago.  I actually forgot about it until I seen someone blogging on it that I hadn’t seen in a long time blog.  I went to comment on her post & it told me that I have an account.

What?!

When did I make an account on WordPress.  I’ve always used Blogger.

I have some learning to do on this site.  I don’t really know how to work it, nor do I know if I’ll continue to blog on this or not.  It really isn’t any different, I don’t blog anywhere else, either.

*

I have been in a major slump lately.  Writing slump, that is.  I have been trying & trying to finish the story I started & nothing.  I’ve been asked a lot if I plan on publishing when I finish.  Truth is… you have to finish a book to get it published.  Right?  I told everybody at work, since I broke my foot a couple weeks ago, that I would work on my story since I don’t have anything else to do, & I haven’t.  Not a sentence have I worked on.

Do all writers go through this?  Does this make me less of a writer?

I can start stories.  But I end up writing a page & then nothing.  Everything I wanted to do with the story flies out the window & I never write on it again.  I sat at work last Monday & wrote a page.  One page.  I know what I wanted to do with it, even if it was just a short story, & nothing.  I ended up doing something completely different.  So I emailed it to myself & figured I’d work on it later.

I haven’t even pulled up my email.

This is what I started at work but never finished & probably never will.

Do you think I should give up writing?

The light was blinding, searing through a crack in the wall.  Peyton was motionless on the three blankets she laid out to sleep on the night before.  She squinted a bit at the light stabbing into her eyes.  She inched her eyes open to welcome the new day & sighed loudly.  She didn’t want to be awake.  Awake meant that she was aware of everything going on around her; the sad parts & the happy parts.

She stretched; legs & feet feeling ten thousand miles away from the rest of her, & felt a cold chill run through her body.  She felt something nibbling her toes & sprang up to see a small rat scamper away.  Peyton blinked rapidly, & felt a shiver run up & down her spine.  Jumping to her feet, she ran toward the door tripping herself in the tangled mess of blankets laying on the floor.  The fall seemed to take forever as she soared through the air smacking into the floor; nose first.  She lay there, nose planted into the floor, paralyzed with unbearable pain searing through her face that brought on a string of tears.

Peyton inhaled a deep breath of air & exhaled as she sat up slowly & felt something drip down her top lip.  She glanced down at the dark wooded floor, covered in white papers, & noticed a drop of blood laying still beneath her thigh.  She ran her finger tips across her nose, pulled her hand away from her face & stared down at it in awe of the streak of blood that smeared her fingers.

Peyton blinked.

Gripping her sleeve between her thumb & first finger she wiped her nose, looking around as if someone was looking at her.  With the other hand she wiped underneath her glasses that was still crooked on her face & got to her feet.  She quietly walked out of the room, almost tiptoeing, as she approached a staircase that sat in the middle of this old abandoned building.

Peyton stood at the top of the stair case glancing around at the building.  It was once one of the most beautiful buildings in Seattle with its large windows lined in white marble, table tops of made of glass, chandeliers hanging with 321 bulbs shining brightly, & now it’s just a pile of heap that is rank with the smell of cat piss & baby vomit.  The windows were boarded up with  dilapidated two by fours, nailed in with rusty screws.  A couple boards hanging towards the floor, squeaking as the wind blew throughout the building.

That’s all I wrote.