DISCLAIMER: This is a long post. It is mostly me rambling; an open journal entry, if you will. There isn't really a central point. I just need someone to listen.

I'm certain there was a time where it wasn't like this, but the line between that and my present state is murky. Every hour of every day I am consumed by some kind of worry. I can't help it. Mostly my thoughts resolve around making a living. I do have a job (well, two), but it's just to make ends meet.

In many ways I am very fortunate. I get to go to college for free and study things I find fascinating. I get free room and board. I still do have some expenses, like books, private lessons, and the little social life I do have. My part-time job pays for all this. 

In many ways I am in an ideal situation. I don't have to worry about debt; my job is mindless, so I can invest a lot of time in myself by listening to audio books and such; I have supportive friends and parents; etc.

Yet I can't help but feel restless. I don't feel like I am doing anything. What value am I adding to the world? How am I helping people? What can I do right now? These thoughts paralyze me. 

One of my main interests is music. I'm not studying that nominally in college, though I do devote a good amount of time to it. I would say I have some skill. I enjoy making things. But I feel like this is useless. Do people need to hear another voice? How can I make money off of this? So, I feel I am  always at a compromise between what I love and what is fulfilling. Sometimes I wonder if I only hold on to music because I have invested so much time into it already. 

But, I have a lot of other interests. Computers, art, linguistics, poetry, literature. So many options. So many desires. So little time. We don't have many days. 

Back to the topic of making a living. I feel very directionless. Ideally, I'd like to have a lifestyle where I have the time to invest in myself in everything I want to do. Sure, books are great; I've learned a lot from them. But I want to experience things, do them with my own hands. This isn't currently an option for me. I am severely busy. School, music lessons, two jobs, and other activities is a lot for me to handle. I feel miserable. So, what can I do that will allow for this freedom? 

I have recently been reading a little book by Austin Kleon called *Show Your Work.* If you're not familiar, he talks about the importance of getting your work out into the world. This is appealing to me, but half the time I don't know what I'm working on. How can I show my work when I don't  know what it is?

This ties back into the whole living thing. Really, the only way to get what I want that I know of is to build things up over time. But that's the problem for a person like me. I always feel the weight of every goal and each individual task on my shoulders. I cannot relax. Putting things on a to-do list does not help. Most of my waking hours are spent mentally mumbling: reminding myself of everything I have to do. And, having to do everything, I do nothing. 

If I am reading a book or listening to a lecture, or doing anything at all, if I see or hear or smell or feel something that reminds me of one of my myriad self-perceived obligations, I lose all focus and immediately start thinking about everything all over again. Somehow I get good grades. Always the top student. I don't know how I do it considering how little time I actually spend focusing on anything. I'm sure it's mostly luck. People think of me as a goody-two-shoes, and I am too cowardly to tell them otherwise. I am deeply troubled.

To sum up my disposition: I want a simple life, but feel obligated to do something great, and I cannot stop thinking about that obligation.

I have never been to a therapist or psychiatrist. I have not been diagnosed with anything. But I know I have a problem, and I want to work on it.

Here is a rambly poem I wrote a while back to close:  
	  
`I often feel uncomfortable`  
`simply`  
`existing`  
`in`  
`the presence of another;`  
`I`  
`cannot be myself.`  
`I`  
`often think of dying:`  
`silver`  
`across my throat,`  
`and`  
`writing on my wall`  
`in my`  
`own blood.`  
`I`  
`know I will not do it;`  
`I am`  
`far too cowardly for that —`  
`I`  
`know it is not true.`  
`Yet I`  
`resent even that cowardice.`  
`I resent my`  
`imperfection.`  
`Imperfection makes me want to let`  
`the`  
`silver skate in figure-eights`  
`along`  
`my skin.`   
`But I`  
`am far too cowardly for that.`  
`Instead`  
`I drop my head into the door`  
`and`  
`lay down on my carpet`  
`trying`  
`not to think too much;`  
`I`  
`often think too much:`  
`I`  
`think of dying`  
`in`  
`the absence of another,`  
`and`  
`am not comfortable with me.`  
`How`  
`foolish all this is —`  
`It is`  
`not true.`  
`It is`  
`too much.`

P.S. There is so much more I could have said but did not. PM me questions about specifics.