It’s been a long couple of weeks for me. Very draining physically, emotionally, and everything-ally. My body is drained, on fumes, and I could feel every yell, and moan, and whine, and groan my body makes. And when I’m tired, I’m bitchy. I’m a prick, and I tend to push people away. That is my defense; I want people to leave me alone. Some people understand me and that I need space. They give me the space that I need. Others just don’t understand who I am, and so they don’t understand that I need space or want space, even after when I tell them. This results in my bitchiness.

It all comes out, attitude, and pent up frustration and anger. I’ve hurt and offended many in my day, especially now. There’s just this person who is just suffocating me, and I can’t deal with that.

There are many things that are on my mind also. Things about family, work, relationships, life. Things that I need to work out, and I have no clue where to start.

Even now, trying to find what I want to say, or where I want to go, or even expressing my feelings. I find it difficult. Nothing is flowing like how it was when I first started this journal. I guess I really am in a very private phase in my life. Or a very lazy one.

Sometimes I just want life to go back to simpler times. When I was just a curious playful little kid with not a care in the world. Going outside catching insects, riding our bikes, playing tag or baseball or football. Times were simpler then. There wasn’t anything to worry about, no one to impress.

Now-a-days, you got to worry about your bills, going to work, impressing girls and others, trying to be cool, to fit in, finding yourself. It’s just too much work, too much shit to deal with. Why can’t we all just live simpler lives?

Sometimes, well not sometimes, once in a while I think about just dropping everything and going into the woods to escape everything, society, life, people, family. Be the Unabomber. All I would have to worry about is keeping shelter over my head and putting food on my table. Don’t have to deal with the bullshit of socializing, the small talk, the schmoozing and kissing up to people to get them to like you.

* * *

I guess for me I am about to take another big step in my life. I’m starting to anyway, and I’m scared. I don’t know how it is going to work out, or if it is going to work out. I’m afraid of failing, and the crazy thing is, that applies to all aspects of my life. My phobia of failure.

I wouldn’t say that I’m not a courageous person, a person who is afraid of everything. Actually I am quite brave in certain circumstances. I’m not afraid of much actually. The only things that I’m afraid of are things I don’t understand, and even then, my curiosity will take over and help me understand.

As some of you may know, I went sky diving this weekend. I went tandem jumping; where you have a jumpmaster strapped to your back. It is safe, very safe. I went on Saturday. The whole day, I was calm. I wasn’t scared. Not one bit. Didn’t get a bout of nerves, my heart didn’t go pitter patter, it wasn’t racing. I was perfectly placid. Even on the plane ride up, I was calm. It’s just the excitement that I’m about to jump racing through my mind.

I kept asking some people there, “Should I be scared?” Their reply, “Yes. You are doing something that is not normal. Be very afraid.” But I wasn’t afraid. I was calm. Well I wouldn’t say that I wasn’t afraid. There was a split second, during the 10 or so seconds where I’m hanging out of the plane, looking down where I might have been a little concerned. But when I jumped, nothing. No fear. It was exhilarating and disappointing and peaceful all at once.

It was exhilarating because I just jumped out of a plane, I could have died. A little disappointing, not because I didn’t, but because I thought it would be a little bit more, just a little bit more. And peaceful, because it is something that I’ve wanted to do for a while now. Just going out and jumping. Facing my fears, living to the extreme. And there is just something peaceful about parachuting down, floating through the sky between heaven and the earth. This is about the most living I’ve done in my whole life, and I guess I was just a little disappointed because it was everything that I was expecting. It didn’t surpass my expectations, therefore it was anticlimactic.

That doesn’t mean that I didn’t enjoy the trip. It was great, and I would do it again at the drop of a dime. The next time, I will definitely jump solo. It might give me a bigger rush.

I guess I have high expectations for what life should be. Being a hopeless romantic, having an active imagination, life is an exciting adventure/journey. But I guess life doesn’t imitate the art that is in my mind. I guess my life doesn’t match up to that, therefore it is disappointing.

I have no one to blame for this disappointment but myself. It is my life, and I should make the best of it. That’s what I keep hearing anyway. This is where my fear of failure comes in. What if I do make the best of my life, and what if it really truly doesn’t live up to my fantasies? The realist in me knows for damn sure that nothing can live up to my fantasies, but me not trying always gives me hope that it could be better. There’s always this possibility that it could be better. But if I do make the best of my life and it turns out to be disappointing, that would be devastating. I guess in a way, I’ve become so much of a cynic, nothing impresses me anymore.

There is a dichotomy that is me. There is this side where my imagination runs wild, a dreamers canvas. The other side, a realist and I see things for what they are. They are always at a constant battle with each other, and the realist in me always wins. It always wins. My life, my existence can never life up to the wild fascinating fantasies that I get lost in during my ol’ days in school, or even my days now. The realism of the world always drags me back and slaps me in the face.