Fear pt. 2

Not living up to who you are inside - that's something that people should really be afraid of.

There's a part of me that believes that I could be someone special in the future. That the encouragements from my family, my best friends - the promises my sister and I made together - are the foundation for who I am meant to be.

"Is writing really all I want out of life?"

"Am I going to actually be able to publish?"

"Does this person think I'm worth it?"

"Do I think I'm worth it?"

These things rush through my mind constantly.

My parents raised me under pressure. I suppose they expected a diamond to be piddled out of their efforts, but it left me with a permanent sense of expectation - their expectation. I'm supposed to grow-up to be better than my siblings. I'm supposed to make something of my life, get a good job, finish college, have a nice family, etc.

But all I really want is to get out. I just want to leave this town, this state, this country. I want to taste things and meet people, write about the way light fractures over mountains - or the fog that curls over London's streets. I want to be someone that isn't theirs, and then I question if that's actually me or not.
Is the me they want actually who I am, or is it just a mirage?

I don't know, and I guess I fear that, too.

Fear pt. 1

Fear should be something solid. It should be something you can face, something you can view and analyze - something a psychologist would actually be able to piece together and make sense of.
I don't fear something solid, though; I fear the things you can't see. I fear the concept that I'll never be able to find my place in the world. I fear that my life will find a desolate conclusion before I can actually reach one of my ambitions.

I'm afraid of emotions. I don't like the way they can encompass one's thoughts and blind logic, or the way I actually crave them as much as I hate them. They snuff out the senses, and they bind my ability to think. I want to think almost as much as I want to be able to just 'let go' and feel.
I fear the possibility that I might not have friends anymore. I fear letting people down and earning their distrust, abandoning those who I'm closest to.

But most of all, I think I fear never being able to write. The idea of losing that, of not being able to be a novelist or just bleed out my thoughts on paper - I fear that the most. Not living up to who you are inside - that's something that people should really be afraid of.
I need writing more than I need anything else, and without that, I'm not really me.

I fear that I'll lose myself. Not just with writing, but with life. I fear that I'll become a person that no one can be proud of.

Pranks - Paul

So, my best friend's father, Paul, has lived in Springfield since he was a child. He was one of those guys who lived out life in the worst and best possible ways, and he made it his personal goal to just experience everything.

When he was in high school, he and his best friend went to a college party. They chose to engage in a scavenger hunt that would involve a list of things they had to get if they wanted to win a big prize (which, most of the time it was a keg of beer). Among the several things on the list, one of them was an American flag - and they had to retrieve one off a pole. The only one they knew about - and was the closest - was at a McDonalds down the road.

They drove there, and it was around late hours, when dinner crowds were dying down and the light was all about gone. Usually McDonalds restaurants have clear, broad glass windows - so the endeavor wouldn't be easy. So, his best friend suggested that he would distract the people in the restaurant and Paul would get the flag off the pole.

His best friend ran over to the nearest window while Paul worked on the flag, and before it was even halfway down, he could hear people yelling. When he turned around, his best friend's pants were around his ankles and he was mooning half the restaurant.

They didn't win the prize, but they managed to get away with the flag.