self obsession

One thing I've learned through this whole blogging thing is that everyone's a writer. Everyone's keeping their online journal, no matter the topic, hoping to get that big break from some publishing house writing them a fat check to have their book prominently displayed in Barnes & Nobles or Borders. Their own little screenplay produced by Miramax or Universal. Their memoirs (pronounced of course in the upper high class Massachusetts "mem-wah" style), propelling them to fame as the next Augusten Burroughs or Chuck Klosterman or whoever else is in style at the time.

I started writing as a catharsis. Worked a little bit on a book - fiction or truth, the lines all blurred in the middle somewhere. Truth is just the fiction you believe, anyway. But what could I possibly write about that would interest anyone besides myself? I could write about cutting until the scars don't go away or anxiety so bad that I can't sleep at night or drinking or having sex with girls who's names I never want to remember or True Love or the fact that True Love doesn't really exist, at least not in the sense of Lloyd Dobler standing in the rain playing Peter Gabriel or self obsession or self hatred or wearing jeans so expensive that you have to wear them in the shower to break them in and make them truly fit or listening to good music or how I never lived anywhere in my life for longer than two years at a time and then all of a sudden I'm living in Virginia and then all of a sudden I'm in college and then all of a sudden I'm graduating and wishing I never did and living across the world from my family and friends and anyone I ever held close to my heart and truly let in to see the real me or being broke and in debt and still spending money and wearing designer sunglasses or breaking down completely or almost dying in a car crash or existentialism or just anything in general. It all just seems so self-obsessed, nothing about my life really affects anyone else and writing about it won't change anyone else's life in the long run.

Is it weird that I'm counting down to being deployed? Not that I truly support the war over there or think it's not being utterly mismanaged on both sides of the aisle (which is fucked up that we even live in a country with so much freedom of thought and speech that we are forced to have only two sides to the aisle on every issue). I'm just hoping that the utter insanity of the situation over there will force my own sanity back into focus, build me back up from the breaking down and make me normal again. Or it will simply force me further down the spiral, down the rabbit's hole, completely shattering my sense of self and normality. Whatever.

currently listening: voxtrot - raised by wolves