Registrations of an unfulfilled life

My mind is full of nothing but lists and to-dos. I’ve sapped my brain of all creativity simply because I have too much in my head. I just can’t seem to win. When I do nothing, I’m extremely depressed. When I do something, I begin to lose my mind because I’m so busy.

* * *

Gretchen RubinSandra Day O'ConnorI wish I could be an authority or “expert” on something. Take Gretchen Rubin, for example, who has quite an impressive resume. She worked for Sandra Day O’Connor. And me — I’m lost, floating in the middle of nowhere. (It’s simply not enough for me that I interned at Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton’s office.) Not content with ordinary boredom life but I want high-profile, glamour, status, glitzy. I’m not really cutout for that kind of life. Funny how I desire something I’m not really cut out for. I think of people who dream of better things, but simple thing: a nicer house, a good neighborhood, obedient kids, a decent financial salary. I have all of those things sans the kids and yet I am not content. I am not content to be a “nobody” by my standards.

Why do my standards even matter? Really, my standards don’t matter at all. I really should care about God’s standards. And I’ll be honest because I’m not fooling any deities. I want to do my own thing: I want success, fame, wealth, international recognition.

Tina TurnerBut if I were really honest with myself, I’d know I’d never be able to handle it. The constant media scrutiny, paparazzi, tabloids, weight watching, exercise, dieting — the prancing, dancing, superficiality. Not with the depression and insecurity I’ve got. (For heaven sakes, I have a family history of schizophrenia on my father’s side!) But I’d love to meet famous people. Tina Turner, for one. How I’d love to sing with her! Or start my own organization that funnels money to finding a cure for eczema. It’s all wishful thinking, I suppose. I tell myself that I’ll do these things once I’m rich and famous. Will I? And isn’t my part in a community theater just a small bit of hope that I’ll be “discovered” and suddenly “make it”?

It’s not impossible for me to achieve that which I so desperately desire — it’s simply unlikely. But I think of Madonna and others who are not content with “ordinary.” I border on manic depressive for the extraordinary.

Or startup capital for a late-night coffeehouse. For anyone, but with a Christian leaning. A place for teenagers and adults alike. (Come to think of it, a section for each group might be good.)

  • No smoking allowed.
  • All sorts of coffees, teas, and other assorted beverages.
  • Different pastries, small appetizers — things I would want were I a paying customer.

I’d like to think of a brighter Witches Brew coffeehouse. Not so dark. But I admit, the dark, dismal atmosphere of my favorite coffeehouse on Long Island appeals to my fascination with death.

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