Late-Night Binging

I'm thinking too big--I am too big. This last year, but specifically the last four months or so, I have really let myself go. From bouts of social smoking, to a pack every day and a half; from occasional snacking, to spontaneous Pop Tart inhaling at midnight--something has got to change.
For the last few months, I've been thinking on a grand scheme. I haven't been giving myself the proper amount of care.
I'm obsessed with the future and doing something truly fulfilling. I am overwhelmed by the emptiness I feel. I need a purpose, and I'm reaching way too far. I've realized that not having goals is stifling me more so than I ever imagined. I have been unemployed for over two months (I guess just about three), and I haven't even bothered to follow up with some of my book concepts. I've lost touch with myself, with what makes me truly happy.
I feel invigorated when I write; the creative juices fill me with adrenaline. I get satisfaction from blogging, but I think it takes more time to feel the effect. Working on the random concepts that fill my brain on a daily basis makes me feel accomplished somehow (even though they are far from completed).
Writing is just one aspect of my life that needs more attention. Physically, I feel like shit. There are times when being invisible has its advantages, but I'm ready to be noticed. I need to set a goal for myself that may seem menial in comparison to everything else I should be concentrating on, but it's something that will help me move to the next level. It's' easy to sit here, but I know how good I felt when I was going to the gym. I felt proud that I was taking the time to care for my body. I felt healthy, and I had more energy. Now, I would rather just skip moving in general. I hate being tired all the time.
In fact, I'm pretty tired right now.

Blame Me

It's all my fault. I got myself into this mess...crawfish ettouffe...I'm stressed...perfectionist...headache...tejas chicken...eating...breathing... shitting...Louisiana style gumbo...I wish I were cramming for something that would actually help me amount to something...Portuguese Fish Stew...instead, I'm cramming for something that will give me more experience in the wonderful world of serving...Chorizo Mexicana...the fast-paced environment where the hours are shitty and so is the treatment...smile...Chili Con Queso...I'm good at that...Mesquite Grilled Fajita Salad...be pleasant...Catfish Bites...I'm good at that...memorize the menu...oh good god...my short term memory is shot...therefore I'm forced to shove all of this information into my long term memory...But, I brought this on myself...oh, it's easy...no problem...and yes, once I'm finished with these god awful tests and horrible trainers...Tostada Grande...it will be easy...but right now...I'd rather shoot myself in the foot than look at these menu items anymore...Camptown Shrimp...where did I put that gun?

Home

Here we go...these dreams...these aspirations...that can't be put into action because of what?...money...means...fear...the need for me to have everything perfect...my inability to be spontaneous...that's too spontaneous...must plan...must have a plan...a place to live...a connection....a fucking job. It's calling to me...life...stimulation...homesickness...it's calling my name so loud...I plug my ears, but the sound comes from my heart...my soul...it's calling to me...the green pastures...the rich history...the feeling I had...there...alone...with the breathtaking land around me...it was there that I could breath deep...the air smelled of opportunity, knowledge, and love...here we go...dreams again...or are they? She's says I'll be too homesick...I think I'll be at home.