faces are for books! not facebook.

I'd like to draw a bigger circle with the word facebook inside, and then a line through it. we're fighting. I have this love/hate relationship with it. Stupid facebook, you waste all my time, and break my heart.
I like this blog page better. It's out there, but not so out there. I love secrets, and this is the secret room, hidden in a closet, that I play in, in this internet childhood of mine.
I've been thinking about my life lately. And wondering how things will end up. What should I do next? How do I do it? I think about going to Sweden. I think about making closer friends so I can go to wherever they are. I think about my job. Everyday I walk in there and know its not what I want to do. But does that matter really? I was meant to be a journalist. To travel and ask questions and write. But why do I have to be a journalist to do that? I can just do it. I am always watching people and wondering about their lives. I want to carry a little notepad and ask them about their day, take a picture of them with a polaroid camera, and then write their story. My most beautiful cosmetic would be ink stains on my fingers from writing and reading and reviewing. Tears, triumphs, and battles all smudged into the tips of my fingers.
All I really want is for you to read what I write.
My life right now is a wrestling with, well, life. So now I'm going to sleep, because I'm tired from thinking, and hoping, and praying, and breathing with a ton of bricks on my chest. But slowly, my weight is and will become lighter. And instead of trudging, I'll be running and laughing, and crying, but just because I'm happy.
Good night with castles in the air.