I am sitting here contemplating my future as a writer, a mother, a daughter, a lover. All at the age of 32. It’s like I went from a complete know-it-all to a complete moron in less than a decade! I thought by now I would not only have my life panned out but I’d be reaping the rewards of a so-called fulfilling life.
I mean for a second there the map was vividly clear. And now I look back, having been so much wiser but nonetheless the same. Add about 10 pounds or so but pretty much the same.
Not so long ago, I was inspired, brave, bold and unafraid to take a chance in life. And now I have become a drone. A slave to money (or lack thereof), love (again lack thereof) and other mundane middle-aged bullshit. Not knowing where to go, what to do or how to do it?
Not saying that I have lost my way but the vigor is gone. Endless stories are unfinished and unfocused. Work is mundane and depsite overwhlming…very dull/ordinary to say the least.
Am I alone in wondering what the fuck happened?
Back to the fucking drawing board!
Drunken Insomniac Writer 