Endless Inquiries.

Here I am, again. Sitting in the same coffee shop. At the same table. With the same drink. And the same barista’s asking the same questions. Repeatedly. It’s almost routine now. I sit here and wonder ‘What I am doing?’ The same as yesterday. And the day before that. How do I get out of this funk? What on God’s green earth is it going to take for me to be happy? Am I expecting too much? Are my expectations too high? I sit here wondering if I should quit my job. Is that place worth it? – The stress. The headache’s. The daily disappointment and reoccurring obstacle’s. The people. The ignorance. The never knowing what’s right or wrong. How are you supposed to lead when you aren’t exactly sure what you’re supposed to be leading? The friends. The people that would surely never call you again once you put your badge on the table and walk out that front entrance. Permanently. Where do you go next? When you’re 28 and have no degree. Nothing monetary. Just the laptop you’re typing on, a freshly made blog, and a couple hundred bucks in the bank. What do you do? Where do you go? How are you supposed to figure this shit out? Who can you lean on and ask for advice when you don’t really trust anyone?

I’ve always known that I’ve never wanted to be a wife. I’ve never wanted to be a mother. And own the house with the puppy. But I never sat back and thought what the alternative would be. I never thought it would be alone. Lonely. With not even a cat to keep me company. I can’t even be the damn cat lady, which should be the easiest thing in the world to achieve. I may have a slight problem with commitment. Or maybe I just give up too easily. I don’t even know anyone that knows me well enough to tell me what is wrong with me. I am no stranger to solitude. For the most part, I revel in it. I am as introverted as they come. But I am not used to actually feeling alone. For once, I wish there was someone to talk to. I have spent my entire life pushing everyone away, and now that I finally wish there was someone – there isn’t. I’ve been figuratively digging a grave for years without even knowing that it was my own.

So, what now?


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