This is what we call a “Stream of Consciousness”

So, this has nothing to do with the upcoming series, though I am writing it. I have all the posts drafted and several of them have complete first drafts. This is basically a general update because the last few months have been a whirlwind.

In August I started Grad-School, and that’s been fun. It definitely keeps my overthinking-mind occupied. On Monday I began my 3rd class, which stretches for 10 weeks, which basically means I’ve started my third semester. Kind of weird to think about, but it’s nice to be in school again. I’m learning a lot, and I’ve made a friend who gives great feedback and has a great talent for coming at issues in a practical, but decisive way. I admire that in a person.

School is going well. I’ve come away with three A’s and a lot of great feedback from professors. Other than giving me a confidence and tools regarding the mechanics of writing, I think earning this MFA will help me believe in myself and my work again. Once you lose that, it’s hard to get back.

My little brother turned 18 in June and enlisted in the Marines in November. His bootcamp is already about 3 weeks in and I miss him, but I’m proud of him, too. Before he left we had a talk about dreams and goals, our hope for the future and it was cool to see we shared a lot of the same feelings in that regard. I asked him how he felt about bootcamp starting so soon, and this almost bashful smile spread across his face.

“I’m nervous as hell,” he said. “But not because I regret it. I want to get it over with so it’s not a just a someday maybe, ya know? I need something to happen. Something real.”

I never understood a sentiment so deeply before in my life.

“I need something to happen. Something real.”

How many times have I thought the same? How many times have tears streamed down my face and my heart ache and bruise with every beat because I, too, need something to happen? Because I need something to shake and change my world. Something to be real…?

Nothing feels real anymore. I’ve lost track of time in this weird nebulous of unknown futures and aimless days. Every dream I dreamed from my childhood on shattered somewhere along the way, I swept up the pieces and put them in a jar, but the jar filled up quick and I moved on to a box. Now I have all these pieces of broken glass that won’t come back together.

I’m afraid to want things anymore. Afraid to dream dreams and wish for things because I’m afraid that wanting those things will be why I can’t have them. It’s like some sick twist of reverse psychology that keeps spinning around and around and around.

Ultimately, I just want to know that I have a future. That there is hope and I’m not just some space saver. I don’t want to be expendable. I don’t want to be disposable. I want to matter. I want to know someone cares about my day, my thoughts. I want someone to check on me and ask how I am without it being just an obligation of manners.

I want a home and a family. I want to fall in love and have kids.

I want to be happy.

I’m not sure if this all sounds selfish, maybe it is.

I’m so proud of my brother, and I’m so happy for him. It felt like a little bit of healing in my own heart to see him make his dream happen. Funny how the kid brother I took care of, the one I remember changing diapers for became my hero, huh?

I miss him.

 

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Published by Megan

I'm Megan and I've been a writer for longer than I can remember. I find inspiration by having Second Breakfast and Elevensies with Hobbits, and taking long walks with a talking, not-tame Lion. Currently, I've embarked on an educational adventure to obtain a Masters of Fine Arts in Creative Writing, and I have participated in The RPG Writer’s Workshop with hundreds of other writers in a collaborative setting. I share a small studio apartment with five little birds with very big personalities, and my favorite way to spend time is with a large cup of coffee listening to my little fluffers chattering happily.

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