Wander Lust

I have no idea what I want to do with my life.

When I was five I remember I wanted to be a painter. [I have never painted in my life.]

When I was ten I remember I wanted to be a short story writer. My fifth grade teacher, Mrs. Hrabcheck, even told me that when I get married, that I shouldn't change my name, because she wanted to be able to find my work when I got published. [I hate writing.]

When I was in elementary school I started playing with electronics. I found out that the dual tape player stereo in my room had a microphone in the speakers on accident and would spend hours recording my voice and me playing keyboard and flute like a little nerd. This slowly manifested into an interest in media that I still have, and have a degree in,  but  I definitely don't want to pursue it as a career path.

I am definitely obsessed with documenting everything, though. Since I was little I've kept a "Memory Box" with printed-off AIM chats, secret BFF notes passed in the seventh grade hallway with backstabbing remarks about our "best friends", movie ticket stubs, disposable camera photos from the semi-formals, the pen he signed my yearbook with, etc. I even have diaries from just about every year dating back to when I was ten. Now keeping up with that trend digitally, my phone is full of photos, and a ton of voyeuristic audio recordings. Someday, I will make quite the friendship historian.

I digress. My point is that all I'm trying to do is be happy; that I have never had a consistent path I've wanted to pursue in my life. Something new and more desirable inevitably catches my attention, and I run for it. The only desirable thing that has ever been consistent in my life is: "what's next?"

I need to keep moving. NYC, Brooklyn, I love you. I hate you. I'm tired of you. I will miss you. Someday, in the next two years, I will wander again to another city, with another interest in mind.

Let Me Let You Go

The foundation you built your relationship on isn't steady, and I'm under it; Let me out.