Lackluster

So, here's really just a bunch of random thoughts I've had recently:

I’ve been in a really weird place lately. Things get good, then they get weird, then they get bad. I feel like I’m not really living my life anymore. I have emotions, then I turn them off, or they disappear. I don’t want these emotions, but at the same time, don’t we need emotions to live life to the fullest?

I’ve been wanting to blog, but I feel unable to because I don’t know what to say. I don’t really know what to say or do anymore… I don’t really know what I’m doing with my life anymore. I don’t have any straight thoughts.

When I first got to San Diego, I was dreading it. I was thinking that if my dad picked me up, I would probably run and hug him, crying, but what happened was that he had a dental appointment and he said my cousin would pick me up, but what ended up happening was my uncle picked me up instead. And that was awkward.

Apparently, it was a surprise to my family that I came back, which is a good thing. It means that my dad could keep a secret. That’s good.

Anyways, I hung around the donut shop for a while and then I headed to downtown to get New Found Glory tickets for my sister. I was also going to try to get Tame Impala and/or Jimmy Eat World tickets too, but they ended up being sold out, which is lame.

The bus now fared $7 for a day pass which is stupid. WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN? There’s something about a compass card too? Meh.

Anyways, I saw a performer on the bus. He had his unicycle and apparently a chainsaw in his backpack.

I was just being overwhelmed with San Diego. It’s like the transition from San Diego to Philly, but in this case, it’s the transition from State College to San Diego… People are judge-y or mean or inconsiderate or what. I mean, sure, it could be better than other places, but in comparison to Penn State and State College and my experiences there, it’s just too much… I don’t fit in. I never fitted in. What am I doing here?

I don’t even live here anymore. My sister said so. All my things are packed. It all feels so foreign. So familiar, yet so foreign. I don’t know what to do with myself. I say I’m going to blog, but that doesn’t really happen. I say I’m going to read, but that doesn’t really happen. I say I’m going to do all these great things, I say I have all this time, but I’m not, I don’t.

There’s the feeling of things being the same, but at the same time things are different. There’s the forced feeling of things never changing. Things being the same as if you never left, but you know things are different because my family is acting this way for a reason. They’re buttering me up. Well, maybe not buttering me up, but they’re being too nice. Not that it’s a bad thing. But, it’s as if the only reason they were being nice was because I’ve been away for so long. They don’t want me to leave, but I don’t belong here. I belong somewhere free. Somewhere.

It feels squished here. I don’t really know what to make of it. The house is the same. My family is the same. But, to me, it feels like a suffocating, stagnant place. Things move too slowly. We’re not in a slow-motion picture here, but we are. Compared to what I was up to while I was away. I realize how much I’ve changed in such a little time. The difference might be the pace. It might be the difference between the East and the West Coast, but is it really?

I think there are a couple of reasons why I haven’t been blogging lately. Part of it might just be because I’ve actually found people that I can talk to, where by the time I would blog such things, I’ve already talked about it to people who I believe truly care, and that’s already enough for me. When I’ve thought about it before, it would seem that the main reason I blog is to write to the invisible audience who really ends up just being myself, but for the reassuring thought that at least it’s out there, or someone knows about it (with “it” being my thoughts, conflicts, or what-have-you).

I think I’ve also been feeling pretty helpless. What am I supposed to do with myself? What am I doing with myself? I’m not really sure. I say I’m going to do things, but I don’t know if I really am. I’m supposed to finish a scarf for my friend so then we can hang out and all that, but I haven’t even done anything. Does that mean I don’t want to hang out with them? *sigh* I hope it doesn’t, because I do… I just… Scarf… I don’t know. There are so many things that I want to do, but I’m in such a weird mindset to just do them. I don’t feel myself… But I suppose I never knew who I was either. I don’t know who I am. What kind of person am I? What kind of person do I want to be? Who am I?