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Hey Xanax fans, sorry I’ve been away for so long. I guess I’ve been kind of off collecting myself. I am  not sure what I have found except that I’ve kind of been a mess lately. When I started writing Xanax it was kind of an online journal, somewhere I went to vent my frustrations, love my loves, day dream… since my audience has changed some, I have stopped writing whatever was flowing through my mind.

I’ve decided to stop doing that.

For my sanity I need the journaling aspect of my blog back. Before the running becomes to clouded with the desire for Xanax to make things go away. Why would I do that you may ask. I have the perfect life. Two beautiful children. A gorgeous husband. A pretty home. A great job. Three rowdy silly dogs. Two sweet kitties. It’s the white picket fence dream.

But my issues run deep through me. They shake me to the core sometimes. As I watch days fall off the calendar into the abyss of the past. I am a writer. I am a dreamer. I am a seeker. To whom much is given, much is required… my dad always says that. Much is required. What am I doing? What am I affecting? Am I just going through the motions? I have been given much, am I grateful? I am. Am I grateful enough? Probably not, because there is so much I’ve longed for and wanted. Do I put guilt on my children? I hope not. If it weren’t for them, would I be somewhere else… well wouldn’t we all?

These are things I ponder in the still quiet. I wonder if this is it. Shouldn’t it be? People say I have everything… should I feel like a major tool bag for wanting more? Does that just make me a shallow empty soul? I bury my emotions deep. I fight them. I want to circle the world. I want out of the cubicle. I want to set fire to every memory of every desk I’ve ever sat at that wasn’t in front of a window to the world.

I have everything. To whom much is given, much is required. I am a writer. What am I doing about it? How’s my book coming? Meh. It isn’t. My creativity is low. My pen is dry. I want to hide my hands. I have it all. I am not mocking all that I have, because Lord knows I love everything and everyone in my life. Why do I fight it? Why do I push so hard against normal and balanced? Why do I want to slash the tires on all the Honda Civics in the parking lot? Why do I rage against the machines? Caged. I am caged in, with everything the world has to offer. What a terrible fucking thing to complain about.

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