So it's come to this...

Welcome to my outlet. I'm a writer over 30 and I'm lost. I can no longer talk to friends and relatives about my fears and misgivings. They all just tell me to get over it and get a real job. They don't understand that there's no getting over it, and nothing else feels real.

I am so conflicted about posting on the internet. Especially stuff that I don't think is art. I'm not saying that I'm not sure what I'm writing here is art, I'm saying that I'm sure that it's not, but I'm still going to write it.

I'm over 30 (like I said), so when I first started using the internet there were like five websites in total, not literally, but it felt like it, so now that the internet is a dense forest of web pages; I have no idea how or why anyone would happen upon this blog. But whatever... On the one hand I'm happy about that, because that way I don't have to worry about anyone reading the blog and I can put what I want without fear. On the other hand; the thought of pure isolation troubles the hell out of me, which is why I'm posting on the internet in the first place. There's something about the echo of cyberspace that's just more comforting than diary writing in a word program. Plus, I'm really not a diary guy.

When I write now, in general, I have to amend my ideas and personality to whatever the potential job requires. After a few years of this; I'm starting to question whether or not I actually have ideas or a personality.

So this is my outlet. I will let it function as my object little a. At least for now.