For the past few months I've been living in fear. Not actual fear but a numbing, moat-y feeling which I guess can only be described as fear. Fear of writing and being in that vunerable, open place in my mind. The last time I wrote anything that wasn't work related, apart from my witty Facebook statuses (my mom thinks they're funny, so, so should you)? I think it was March, because it was still chilly and I was unemployed. At that point I took my dad's advice of going back to University and being miserable and did the exact opposite, as you do. I got a job which, funny story, I was afraid to get and afraid to start. I started supporting myself and paying my bills on time, queue, intense fear. My job at a jewellery store turned out better than expected and my bosses are actually decent people, when they aren't taking advantage of my kindness and mad skills. Shortly thereafter I signed up for e-learning writing classes which I was scared I wasn't going to be excepted to and when I did afraid to deal with it because I felt I'd fail. And somewhere in all of this, everything else stopped. I don't mean relationships, friends, nights out. I mean I started being a lot more afraid instead of less. I stopped being creative in the ways I was before. I was tired and felt spent. All I talked about was work. My boss is now on leave for the entire month of August and it's just me and the Internet here at work all day, everyday. Oh, and the crazy customers who show up at precisely 21:00 p.m, or as I like to call it the time I should be on my way home but am not, because well, people. Yes, I'm exhausted, but more than that I've managed, by choice,to trap myself in a situation where work has devoured my life. I suppose it's easier to whine about work related issues and stress than to have a crack at what is actually bothering me. Sure I could be doing other things as well but I'm too afraid to do them. Why? I'm not telling you, reader, I'm asking you. Why? Even at my most complacent, I still managed to create something. I was broke but I wasn't afraid. I was sad, but not scared. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life, but doing nothing at all wasn't an option. Last night I was afraid to open an email (gasp)! That's right. I was afraid to stay up late with friends because I had to wake up early. Right now I fear I'm becoming repetitive. My point is, my friend wasn't entirely wrong when he said I was becoming an old lady. My boyfriend, who convinced me to open that email, isn't wrong when he says I can do anything I set my mind to. He also says I'm pretty and an amazing lover and he makes me breakfast on Sundays, which has nothing to do with what I was saying but I just wanted to point out how wonderful my boyfriend is(and I don't want him to think I never write anything about him, so there). My other friend wasn't wrong when she told me to grow some balls( a mission harder than most, since I am in fact a woman). She said "you used to have balls", cause apparently this conversation is turning into some strange reverse Bruce Jenner situation, I don't know what she's talking about anymore. And I do kinda wish I had gone to bed earlier, or my head would be thanking me instead of throwing a tantrum like some spoiled teenager from the Valley, but nevertheless I'm glad I did. I felt a little less old lady and more like grown ass adult. This revelation of course came after half a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc(the second half) while watching Bachelor in Paradise(it isn't shamefull if you don't do it alone) so I don't know if it counts as an epiphany.
but at least now you all get to hear about it".
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