(no subject)
Somehow, going home always makes me feel more lost. It's not the change here, though that happens at a breakneck pace. It's that..it makes me question the choices I'm making. Why am I far away when..this is home, really. Where it matters if I'm here or not. The really safe space, where I'm watched over, and wanted. Compared to..no attachments, when it comes down to it. Because work is..work. Maybe I see it as more because..I need to, rather than because it actually is more.
One foot in front of the other-ing it is the cheat's way out. You avoid looking at the gaping emptiness ahead.
I don't know where I'm headed. I have no greater guiding plan. I can't see myself working..anywhere when I'm done. I can't see being done. Will I come to the end of this and still be unsure? What if I detour here? Change my mind? Choose to be somewhere else instead?
It's not even my dreams versus someone else's, because I have no dreams of my own.
To be able to figure out what makes you happy, that's a gift in itself.