Let me tell you right now: I don’t believe in fate. I don’t believe in destiny. I don’t believe in things happening for a reason, or all that other sappy stuff that spiritual people believe in. I just don’t.
But today, as I was fake shopping in the mall (I can’t even afford a sock), I felt as though I was in the right place. Not the right place location-wise but the right place mentality-wise. It’s like I’ve completed step one and am ready for step two. Like a road to recovery-type thing.
It’s hard to describe it, exactly. Because I don’t necessarily know if I am doing what I am supposed to. But I felt okay. I guess that’s a part of life, not knowing whether you’re on the right track but feeling as though you are. I’m not afraid of making mistakes. I’ve definitely made a large number of them. I’ve made some today, I’m sure. But I don’t want to fuck up so badly that I jeopardise my future, whatever that may be.
For now, I’m just hoping that if I wake up everyday and do what I need to do, I will be okay. ‘Okay’ is good enough for right now. Because lately ‘okay’ hasn’t been possible. If I’m doing and feeling ‘okay’ then that is my sign for being in the right place. I don’t know.
Today I woke up at 7:45, it’s a big deal because usually I wake up at 11:45 or 1:45. I’m not joking. It was like a milestone in my life. Then I went back to bed and woke up at noon. It’s not the best. But it’s a start.
I have, as a result of my considerable searching efforts, acquired a job. A job as a shoe seller/stocker/person at a big ol’ Canadian department store. I been there for two shifts. It’s okay so far. Definitely exhausting. But waking up at 7:45 now holds very much significance for me. Am I finally growing up?! BAH.
It weirds me out when people I haven’t seen for a while come up to me and say, “Hey, I’ve been reading your blog. It’s really good!” I feel sort of famous (haha). But it’s a weird thing. I usually reply back with some odd comment, “I feel embarrassed” or “You must have a lot of time on your hands” but I really do appreciate the stuff people say to me. Does this mean I am a true writer now? Do people want to read what I have to say? Do I want people to read what I have to say? I just don’t know the implications of people ACTUALLY reading my shit. Note to you, reader, PLEASE DON’T TAKE ME SERIOUSLY UNLESS I TELL YOU I AM BEING SERIOUS. I honestly don’t think I care whether people read my blog (no offense!) or whether you like my blog but if you tell me you’re impressed, that you respect my writing, that means a lot to me.
I didn’t make up the little phrase in the title of this post… I am not that clever-sounding. The words are lyrics from The National song called “Mr. November.” Check the band. They sound British -they’re not- and they’re wonderful.