this crappy blog gives me hope, somehow

Is it strange how desperately I want to be something I'm not?

It's not like going down the path I'm currently taking has a high possibility of ending in ruin. I just feel that I could've been so much more, if only I'd been a little more creative and motivated as a child. Is that just a genetic thing? Did I miss the adequate dose of childhood curiosity bestowed upon so many others?

It would've been great if instead of being all depressed and shit in middle school I channeled all that into something more productive. The thought of all that I could've done makes me deeply anxious for some reason. I start viewing myself as a worthless person who just so happened to be lucky enough to be born book-smart. Look at all that gift squandered away. That's what really bothers me, I think--that it feels like whatever higher power out there gave me this aptitude to do something with and I just fucked it all up. But I'm not even afraid of retribution or anything, I'm just so uncertain as to where I should go. I think maybe that's partially due this emerging culture of self-care being all knotted up with just doing whatever the hell we want. If my inner self actually would prefer never to do any work, should I just let it? Take the fucking office job and call it a good life?

For some reason at this very moment the only proof to me that I ever took my angst out on anything productive is this blog. Even though this was partially again my mother's gift to me, I never built or created anything besides it. In that sense it has a great deal of value for me. I mean, I still find it aesthetic after all these years so...well, anyways. This might be a bit too much melancholy for me to handle at this point in my life--just wanted to do my biyearly check-in. Back to work!