It.

It's here again. It knocked on my brain's door while I was watching "Zombieland" and officially handed me its card, but I've felt it hanging around for weeks now. I hate it and I wish that it would go away, but it's stubborn. It knows that it's had fun chilling in my head before, and it's ready to give it another shot.

"It" in this pretentiously ambiguously case, is a sort of crippling sense of frustration and self-doubt. Whenever I make the mistake of comparing my life to someone elses', of comparing my choices to someone elses', I get to spend some time with this emotion. It makes me want to scream at myself, to say mean things like "WHY THE FUCK AREN'T YOU IN LOS ANGELES RIGHT NOW? WHAT GOOD DO YOU THINK THIS SUMMER IS GOING TO GET YOU? YOU COULD BE TOURING THE WORLD OR GETTING REAL LIFE EXPERIENCE, BUT INSTEAD YOU'RE SITTING ON YOUR ASS IN YOUR HOMETOWN DOING ABSOLUTELY NOTHING."

This, rather understandably, makes me feel uncomfortable. I don't like screaming at myself, as a rule. But it's gotten worse this summer--worse than it's ever been before. I wake up in the middle of the night and I know that I've just had a weird or stressful dream, but I can't for the life of me remember what that dream was. I go through the day with a headache throbbing behind my temples and I feel like I am continually on the verge of snapping at whoever approaches me. I mutter to myself and mock my dog--which I do normally, actually, so nevermind that.

I love being home, and I love my family and my friends, but I feel...I don't know. Not tied-down, because let's face it, I CHOSE to come home for the summer. It's more of a sensation of frustration, like I'm the viewer when I want to be a participant. Actually, that's exactly what it is. More and more people I know are graduated and off to start their big, important lives in the real world, and I'm stuck here...worrying about myself, about my relationships with my friends, about the goddamn future. Things are changing and I'm not changing fast enough to keep up.

This is just what my mother calls "future anxiety," I know. I'll find a job, somehow. It might not be a job that I like or want, but I'll get by. I'll get an apartment, I'll buy food, I'll make my way. But it's all so big and scary right now, and I know for a fact that I'm not ready.

Ack.