Depressingly Inspiring

I keep meeting people I am jealous of.

I have this horrible problem with life-envy... I want to be these people.
These people are so confident, so adventurous, and have so much love in them.
I won't go into details, but maybe one of these people is reading this right now. Hi. You make me wish I were you. Welcome to this blog that no one reads.

I try so hard to become as confident as these people, but all I end up doing is mimicking the actions they carry out that I find endearing or cool. I can't come up with my own "thing", really. I am failing to progress my writing, and I'm losing interest in art, and I can't put a story together to save my life, and I'm too lazy to learn.
All I really want to do is create things. All kinds of things. But, this is kind of a curse. None of these things will end up being spectacular because my attention will be spread thin across all of them. My artistic attention span is infinitesimal.

I want others to look at me the way I look at the people I envy, if that makes sense. I want to be proud of something I create. I want to make many, many things. And I want it to be dear to someone like, say, Questionable Content or Stranger Than Fiction or Six Feet Under or A Great and Terrible Beauty are to me.

Don't mind me, it's just something I've been thinking of a lot lately, especially since it won't be long til I have to choose in a very definite way what I want to do with my life. Freakin' college, man.

So much love,
Rachel