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False Hope

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I'm sick. No, I'm angry. Oh, who gives a damn, I just want it to stop! 'Oh, I totally think you'll marry Justin Bieber.' Well, guess what Mrs. BieberFever, YOU WON'T. Here's my favorite, 'I see it now, you on a Broadway stage right next to Idina Menzel and Kristin Chenowith!' Really? Cause I see her laying on the sidewalk clutching a bottle of whiskey the way she would have clutched her first playbill. Clearly, I'm not the most optimistic person out there.

If anyone was fed false hope it was me. People always told me they couldn't wait to see my name all over Barnes & Noble. They couldn't wait to attend my first book signing. The worst part about all my false hope was the person who ruined it. They told me in their sweetest voice that I was starting to get the writing skills my brother has. Well, gee. That's swell considering he wants to be a MOTHERFLIPPING PEDIATRICIAN.

Anyway, that's how you end up pessimistic like good old me. That's how you end up listening to Queen and watching the neon green bubbles in your lava lamp levitate with excitement and drop back down when they see reality. You may be thinking, 'Why are you writing about not be successful in writing?' Because there's nothing else I know how to do. And yes, I find it extremely ironic that the shuffle on my ipod has brought me to 'Any way you want it, that's the way you need it. Any way you want it.' Well, Journey. YOU, like 80% of Americans, ARE WRONG! And frankly, how dare you sing lyrics that are such bullcrud?! Just because I'm singing along doesn't mean I agree with you!

I should just accept the fact that I won't be writer and start working in the coal mines. (Wait a hot second, this isn't Rocket Boys/October Sky!? Also, I'm a little afraid of the dark so that might be a problem.) Spilling my emotions out here isn't the safest thing. Just letting all my fears of failure be displayed. It's like putting my diary in an envelope and mailing it to an address I'd never heard of before. It's like Harry Potter whipping out his wand and trudging through the Forbidden Forest to face the nose-less antagonist no matter how badly his lightening scar hurts.

I just want it so badly. I can imagine it all. Me sitting at the the dining room table with my laptop and paper with coffee rings scattered across it. My husband walks in with his curly hair and sexy scruff. The beach outside our condo gives the whole place a pleasant aroma that does nothing but make you content with the present day. Why can't I have that? I deserve it! Everyone deserves what they most desire! There's always going to be that one group of people who wanted something that you have the potential to get so they'll tell you it's impossible just because of their jealousy. But maybe, just maybe, they didn't want it like you. They didn't want it hard enough. Fear of losing either makes you want to get lost get better and right now I'm choosing the ladder. I want it bad enough. I'm the exception. I'm a writer.



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