I'm not too sure what my issue is. It's like...
I just can't make up my mind about what I think or feel.

I can't differentiate between my feelings for certain people. Everything gets muddled up. I don't know whats up and whats down. I just wish I could sort myself out. I can't do this anymore. Too much feeling. If thats possible. I mean, I contain it. I can hold it back. But it's eating me up inside. Its twisting my heart and soul. Well, maybe not that dramatic but its certainly screwing with my head. I just want something concrete and established and understandable. I want to be able to look at someone and not feel jealous of what they have. I want it for myself. And I always seem to want it with someone I can't have that with. Someone who is completely unavailable to me. Maybe not closed off, but just not for me. They either belong to another person or there is some reason we're not meant to be, sometimes due to circumstances beyond my control.


Sometimes I think I am schizophrenic. Well, maybe not schizophrenic. Casually assuming the monkier without proper medical diagnosis is lightly melodramtic and disrespectful to true sufferers of the disease. But I do sometimes feel like Sybil with two versions of me rattling and banging around in my brain, arm wrestling each other for dominance. There is the Wannadoer" and the "Wishidinter": carefully thoughout nicknames for my alter egos. The "Wannadoer" stares and watches the world with eager fascination, jonesing for a taste of the high life. The life of dark bars, dark-haired men, and leather-panted experiences worthy of a Playboy spread. The "Wishidinter" tosses and turns in bed, spitting out the taste of sour kisses and reddening at the memory of my ill-prepared ass trying to strut beautifully dyed cowhide around town. The "Wannadoer" leaps into escapade, falls head over heels in love at a simple hello, ignores rational thought in favor of high-relief fantasy, and has a gold neon aive sign flashing on her brow in broad daylight. The "Wishidinter" scolds herself for chilish romance, tries to prevent an immature heart from beating the tom-tom for the wrong guy, picks up the scattered pieces after the inevitable fall. Both creatures seem very normal, very human. What person does not have both sage and the sucker lurking within? However mine exist at the same time, all the time, and most of the time they initiate conversation or argument with each other no matter the circumstance. In simple terms, I talk to myself, a lot, everywhere. I talk myself into things, out of things, around things, and through things." -Girl Anatomy

Final.

Its strange to think about things that happen in your life. The moments that really make you who you are. That define you. It seems to me a lot of the time these moments can be ones you didn't necessarily think would be so important. It's not until later, with hindsight, that you realize how much hinged upon one decision. One thought. One moment.

You make a decision. You leap. Or you hide under the covers. You chose to work as hard as humanly possible. Or you decide to slack off for the time. You take a real true risk. Or you play it safe. You open yourself up completely to any and all possibilities. Or you close yourself off.

I'm not sure what is it that I'm talking about or where exactly I'm going with this but I know that these moments are happening every day, every second really. These tiny, infinitesimal, immeasurable changes. All the time.

It scares me sometimes to think like this. That time is just going by and that every little thing I do will eventually add up to something big and that will be the sum total of my life. What will i have to show for myself? What will there be to speak of when someone says "Caitlin Reed" ?

I'm being overly dramatic and morose but its just the kind of day I'm having.

I don't know what else to do but ponder these kind of thoughts. Over think, as I always do, and while away the hours with contemplations on nothing.

God that was such an overblown sentence. Pardon me, when I get to rambling I end up sounding pompous. Its not intentional. Its just what happens unfortunately. A part of the job- or the me in this case.

I'm so odd. Just ignore all of this. i don't evne know why I'm writing anymore.
{robably because i'm in the box office and feel like theres nothign better for me to do cause there is nothing going on. We have an incredibly tiny audience for the show tonight and no calls and I just feel absolutely useless at the moment. So yay. Go me. and all that jazz.

The end. I'm going to return to wasting time on twitter or facebook or cheesy internet games that I can't seem like such and asshole with, as I do right now with what I'm typing.

Peace.