Jen's Journal

Maybe I crave chaos so much that I create it. Maybe, I’m afraid of the unremarkable daily life becoming never-ending. Is it possible I have somehow convinced myself that I can never be happy? It would explain why I mess up everything around me when things are good.

The longer I work the 9 to 5 life, the more I realize why people lose track of their dreams. Childcare was supposed to be temporary, a way to earn money as I focus on writing, reviewing books, and the things I love. Then I started getting more responsibility, which was nice at first until writing became a hobby. And then it became something I only did on the weekends. And now I can’t even remember the last time I picked up a pen and wrote something down that was unrelated to work. Even now, as I’m writing this, I’m thinking of something one of my parents said to me today.

I’m still unsure of where I want to go from here. This job is all I think about most days. I am excellent at what I do. But at the same time, I’ve cried more in the last few months than I ever have over any job. It is physically and mentally exhausting. Isn’t that what sweet dreams are made of?