Written 29/07/2013.
After reading the recent script to screen adaptation of the Nicholas Sparks novel a couple weeks back, it got me thinking... I don't really know.
Perhaps it bleeds into the diary written in Shorthand, with the cryptic messages updated whenever the heck I feel like it. Engulfed in the heavy workload and tasks that begin but always seem so far from completion. Headphones in. Music loud. This is what it feels like. Drawing inspiration from just about anything, seeking confirmation that I'm doing the right thing or following the right path. Ignoring that sucker of doubt that sticks with you like a limpet to a moss infested rock, never quite washed away by the infrequent seas of success.
The life that's been left behind. Immersed in the fictitious world of gaming whilst in the attic climbed after a hard days moping. Even technology can be unreliable. You let the darkness swallow you whole as you lay there, lost in thoughts of what could have been. Memories captured in a photograph that you can't bring yourself to look at. And spending time with family that barely recognise your face. Time invested in a Journalist who can't even bring themselves to write. And it's in our nature to help these people, but how can we when they're not even willing to help themselves?
"I thought you'd be more sympathetic." It's a selfless crime, not a selfish one. My life is a collection of lost puzzle pieces that my OCD can't bear. That constant nagging element of choice that people feel the need to complain about. I'm an optimist who has her bad days. Often wondering if she's running from something or someone. With the added responsibility of being forced to function in the real world. But unlike Alex and Katie, my life is far from a love story. My cobbled path could take me anywhere, it's all a matter of time.
My nanna always said I was the dreaming type.
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