it's not that i felt out of control of my life, so much as i just didn't feel like an active participant.

talking to a friend yesterday, i jokingly told her that my life consisted of my design homework and my boyfriend. after the conversation, i realized that it was, essentially, true.

the design homework isn't without it's own sense of satisfaction, and certainly my relationship is as fulfilling as i think it can be - in fact, if it weren't for that, i might well be miserable. i think only my soaring happiness and utter contentment has kept me from despair.

i realized that i don't do anything. yes, i run from class to class and occasionally to paint call, but i'm not truly giving anything of myself. i don't commit myself to my design projects, and i don't paint on my own anymore. my writing has consisted of only this page and a few scattered email poems to counterbalance papers on thermonuclear destruction and 19th century astrologists. i don't read if it isn't required for class; or at least, not like i used to. it's been a while since i devoured a book for the sheer pleasure of it, the absolute inability to put it down.

there are four newly filled pages in my journal that brought me to this realization, and then a short, neat list of what i plan to do about it.

i choose to take my life back before i lose it.
i choose to write more.
i choose to find something something to do here that uses my time and talents well.
i choose to swim at least twice a week.
i choose to begin an earnest search for a summer job.

so there.