Unhappy Noise

Have you ever wondered why real life has to encroch upon escapism? I have, and I have come to the conclusion that it sucks. Not life, or escapism but just the combination of the two. "Forever spererate, replacing each other as the mood deams." I just want to read, to write, to build a world for people to enter and experience. However, other thoughts occupy my mind. They pull at me, waking and sleep. Finances, grades, relationship concerns. They burden me, and I know I am not alone in this. I know that everyone faces the worries. Like right now, I just want to run up to Charles De Lint and give him a big hug. It might just be the lack of sleep talking, or typing rather, but I just finished "Our Lady of the Harbour," and I feel that its one of the best I have read. A little disapointing, but not at all cliche. I do not fault him because the story did not go the way I wanted it to. Rather I comend him, because I have a way I think the story should go, but I understand why he did it the way he did. I get why it works, the underlining mood, maybe not meaning, but certainly metephore. And I am sitting here all Jazzed, thinking about my transition issues and what I could do better for my own stories. And what does reality do? It glarbs at me, and weighs me down again. I hate it, you know, I hate having to be so serious, knowing that I am not serious enough and that even if I exert more effort it still wont be enough. I just want to follow the Muse, but benality has me so tightly that it invades my dreams! worry, regret, concern. I even sit around thinking about what I would change if I could, how I could make it better. But I don't really know if I could do it, probably just falter. And that's the really anoying thing, that I feel just so darn depressed about it all. I know I shouldn't. I know I have a lot to be thankful for. Probably even enough to think about haveing some sort of faith. I also know these problems will never go away. They will always come in some form or another and if I am not ready for them; if I give up latter like I have given up before, I know they will destroy me. Destroy what I have now, what I will have later. When it all will mater. When I have somthing worth fighting for. Granted, having someone to share the night with brings the future into prespective. The only real problem there is, I see the man I want to be latter, but know I am not him now. And the real scary part is, I don't know if I can become that man. I don't know if I will ever care enough, to really feel and fight for it all. I'm not saying I'm messed up, there are a lot of folks who feel like that from time to time. It happens. But its just irksome when such worries and self examinations envelope the mystical places we hang our hats when we want to get away from it all. When words in a book form commitment, and when classes on theology are held in one's mind. Then, my fellows, it is time to be concerned. Any who, I better get to bed. May the Muse Guide You.
-this post has been spell checked for your convenience-