Alright, I’m angry. I just read this.
I don’t understand why allowing other people who are in love to get married would somehow undermine the meaning of my marriage.
I don’t understand how people can argue that gay marriage would undermine the sanctity of marriage in a country with a 50 per cent divorce rate.
I once heard a man on the radio argued against allowing gay couples to adopt because “children need to be raised in a loving home.”
The stupidity of it all overwhelms me.
(That’s a Beatles reference)
I used to write passionately about things. When I was in journalism school I had the ability to take information and turn it into something that flowed. I loved learning things that I never would have thought of and I would strive to create a story that people would read so they could learn things too.
Before that, when I was in high school, I wrote fiction. I loved creating stories and characters and details of lives I could never live. I dreamed of writing novels and being able toexplore things around the world through with pen and paper.
Right now it feels like I’ve lost that ability. It’s something I’m fairly desperate to regain. Whenever I sit down to write now, it always seems as though I’m writing in stream of consciousness about me, my life, my stresses, my feelings, and while I love journaliing, that’s no escape.
I think the problem is that I just don’t know where to start. It feels as though I’ve lost my imagination and my ability to have ideas. Somewhere along the way I went from having these fairy tale fantasies, to the complete dark, emo writing of my teenage years, to the non-fiction pieces in journalism school, to the unimaginative sports writing of my attempted and aborted journalism career, to university essays that garnered okay marks and now nothing.
I feel empty, as though I had my chance and used up all my creativity. I soared in my creative writing classes in high school and was showered in praise during in college and I miss it. I don’t have any audience anymore. I have no one to impress, no one to assign, and I’m lost.
I’m hoping that the right pen and notebook and the three weeks off I face at the end of this work day will bring that part of my back to life, but I just don’t know.
So I’ve been working almost constantly for three months now. I went from living in Montreal working 12 hour days to living at home but working 14 hour days. Now I’m coming to the end of that time and I’ll have a month off, but I’m putting myself out on a limb for that too.
I’m tired. My body is tired, my brain is tired and I’m tired of things being hard. I just want something to go smoothly for me.
Smooth would be getting my earned time without a fight, spending that time regaining some strength, getting back into exercise, knitting, reading, writing, working on the things that I just haven’t had time for.
But I still don’t technically have a job. I’ve been on contract extension after contract extension but no permanent offer and no real indication of any permanent offer. So I start looking for job postings and I start questioning my qualifications again and I start thinking about starting all over again because I don’t really believe that I’m any good at anything that I really want to do.
I want to learn a trade.