not unhappy

My mother and I keep getting in fights about how I'm not happy, but the truth is, I'm not unhappy. I'm just not content. I like my job, I like the people I work with, I like living with my family (we'll see how long that lasts), but everything I am is itching to be me again. And it's not a matter of being in school, although I want that. It's discussing words and language and poetry and getting excited about it all. It's hard to not have april or fob or grad school as outlets for the conversations going on in my head. It's hard to not have writing be first on my to-do list everyday. And it's hard letting go of that life. I'm making steps--I told the firm that I'd like to work there for at least a year, so I'm committed there. And it seems as though it's the right thing to do. Money, sleep, etc. These are good things. But they're not a life, at least not the life I thought I was headed towards.

It's not just the writing, although as I write that, it's all about the writing. K is coming back to Utah for summer, which is one thought that keeps me going on days like today. But at the same time, I'm facing my brother's July wedding. I like the girl, I like him, I'm happy for them. At least, I'm not unhappy for them. But it's drawing attention to the fact that I'm alone, which is another thing I'm just not dealing with well now. Coming home after work is coming home to a family that is used to life without me--I join in, but I'm not really necessary. I'm just here. I need to find whatever purpose is left for me--with or without grad school and close friends and writing.

And in writing that, I'm not sure how I'm going to do this. How I'm going to live this life.