If only

If uninspiration was a state of being, then it would be the one I inevitably and unconditionally exist in. Whilst my sorority sisters frolic about campus, intoxicating their lives and distorting their realities I find myself here. Here is where I spend quality time with my ipod and whatever I can reach on my bookshelf. For someone so socialable, I've been spending a great deal of time being completely introspective, dedicating my energy and attention to things other than boys and shopping trips. The former preoccupation has been replaced by my own declaration of independence from men. When I realized much of my happiness was a direct result of unfulfilling relationships I was smart enough to reconsider my time commitments. The latter hobby of shopping has been satiated by the purchase of a few things I've wanted for a long time. For the moment I'm content, I think.

All of this time spent alone has taught me much about my ownself. Whether I'd like to admit it or not, I have an addictive personality. I can't have just one cup of tea, I have to have five or maybe seven. When I start a book, I have to finish it even if it means doing nothing but reading for ten hours.I guess I could have worse addictions besides tea and books, but still. Ever since turning the old age of twenty I've been obsessed with getting old, as if I don't have enough time and my life is practically over. I've been reassured that forty is the new thirty, so that leaves me with twenty more years to live life how I want to, if I ever do figure out what way that actually is. Maybe I'll learn not to be so cynical and such a conspiracy theorist, but probably not.

Sometimes, well all the time, I'm am too grounded for my own good. Admitting this makes me reevaluate a lot, I should maybe relearn how to let go because I used to so good at it. And because I am allowing myself to go off on random tangents, I realized that I am the kind of person who listens to entire CD's. I am intrigued by the peculiar and the unconventional more and more. I am also a sound track fanatic because I have always been one of those people who walked through life imagining music, subtle but poignant, mingling with the background noise. Maybe I should be more subtle and poignant instead of so deliberate. I don't know sometimes about why I am this way. I'm quick to identify and understand my faults but without the ability to change them, sticking me amidst some dangerous inner turmoil. I just don't know where most of it comes from. Maybe understanding it is not the point. Maybe changing it isn't either.