Writerlust

Periodically throughout every single day I find myself battling what are essentially panic attacks about my future. Where I am going from here is such a murky process in my head that I find myself more and more afraid of time's passage. Am I missing out on something important? Am I living life to the fullest? As an overweight, single, twenty-three year old woman who somehow manages to feel all alone in a crowded room of friends, the answer to that first question becomes an obvious and resounding, "No."  But why is that? What is holding me back?  I can't seem to put my finger on it. I can't seem to put my finger on anything what with alarms from my phone constantly leading me hither and thither through my life. I don't have any spark or passion urging me to live my life. I feel like I'm just here. I'm just going through the motions of each day, never feeling a single iota of any sense of purpose.  Is this depression? Is this a mid-l

Originally titled: Pontellier I have an insane and urgent lust to re-read The Awakening...  Edna speaks to me in a way most characters never have. I feel a kinship with her, despite having never been married, never bearing children, growing up in an entirely different region of the United States, living in a different social class, and being of a completely different time period than she... However, she still speaks to me. I feel sometimes that I can speak back to her, she nods and understands my pleas. But she never responds. I can only read of her life, fictional as it is, and wonder what I would do in her dainty shoes. I wonder if she wonders the same about my well-worn sneakers or grey ankle boots... Perhaps. I like to think she would.  Would she still walk into the ocean at the end?