Okay, so... I'm old... well not too old, but old enough to be tired of life. Hahaha. It's just I am so exhausted and I am wondering if anything has meaning, and all that , you know? I mean, since I was 13, I knew I liked writing, then at 23, I decided to be a writer. I spent 7-8 years working for corporations and sales, and you know.... But most of my life I spent studying-- primary school, highschool, university (twice) and I have always felt transitional, you know, like you are preparing for a life you want and I have this picture in my head... nothing like a big house, or even a happy family, just pockets and pockets of time when I am writing.

I know I am not quite the cookie cutter ginger bread man. I really don't want fame or fortune or even family, I just want a capacity to write. And most of my life I couldn't because one I am relatively not as good as I hope, two, I need to work, three, I need to spend time with people who I love. And now, at the thirtieth year of my life, I just feel like I am... wasting time, and I am tired of all the ing plan Bs when I just... I want to write.

And it's not even that my life is so cramped, it's just I no longer have motivation to live. I think I have figured out what is wrong with me... I am too ambitious and I don't even have the chops for it.

I have always believed in one fundamental thing that if I tried my best, I would be the best, and that belief has somehow been shattered and I am just... grasping at something... a belief that there is something more to life than sleeping and wasting money...

This writer's block has been one of the worst I have ever experienced, and one thta has extended for more than six months now. And while I have written stuff, everything feels forced, and I am tired of writing for a living. Hahaha. I mean, writing corporate ... and I don't know. I am just so tired. 4 months of work and monotony and I feel like I am already dead. Hahaha. And I just want to write, and my head is empty, and I wonder if my life will be worth all that biological crap I am polluting the world with.

I don't know... I mean relatively speaking I should be happy. I graduated with distinction. I have a well enough paying job. I write for a living (eventhough my team leader hates every ing word choice I make). I am in a marriage with a man I always feel luckt to have. I can write, if I really want to...

But you know, it feels like nothing. Like I am experiencing nothing one day after another, and they keep telling me you go chase your dreams and my dreams, they are not even that, you know, solid. I used to think I'd like to write one book, but now... i don't even know if I have one book in me.

Maybe it's because I read so many things that I have deluded myself in to thinking that life is about having a purpose, like saving the world or something. Or curing cancer. Or writing one book I am proud of.

I know how I sound, you know. Sometimes I wish I wanted a simple life, like a family, like a child I would just biologically produce and spend all my life energy in his or her potential and giving up my own. I mean, it's simple, because at least, you don't determine your life's worth in your seemingly futile efforts of becoming someone of consequence.

My husband wants to own an apartment complex and I wish my goal is as simple as a materialistic thing, at least I would know the steps, like earn money, get a loan, buy an apartment complex. I want to write, like continuously, like progressively, like forever. But it's not as simple as sitting down and writing. It should be. Writing is work, You should be able to sit down through the agony of not knowing what the you are doing until you do. But I don't do that.... and I wonder, I wonder if I will ever stand up again, or sit down to write, or if I would forever feel like utter waiting to be flushed down the toilet.

I am so tired. I don't even understand why.