Word vomit.

Have you ever just needed a Xanax? I mean, just needed to swallow the entire pill without second-guessing it? To lay down and feel your heartbeat ease up? To unclench your jaw? God, I could use one.

My mind's in a conflicted place. I find, most often, I feel free. Open. Liberated. I've got an entire life ahead of me to make it right, to do what I want. One day I'll have a dog, a Labrador, because I can. Harley won't like it, but she's grounded, anyway. She doesn't get a vote.

I've got a career that I can take or leave. I've got a passion - writing - but it doesn't have to define my career. Or it can. Maybe one day I'll find the perfect career combination of passion and talent. Success and enjoyment.

I haven't found that yet. But I'm only 26.

Other times, I feel trapped. Part of my life is still bound. Attached to a life that's no longer my own. Like a hangnail. It's there. It's ugly and painful if you poke at it. And when you rip it off, it's going to bleed and hurt like a bitch, but man, it feels so good when it's gone. It'll heal and not even leave a scar.

I'm in a moody music mood. You know that mood. When the lyrics are far more dramatic than can possibly apply to your own life, but dammit if you don't want to commiserate in it, anyway. And loudly.

No one's life is ever as bad as lyrics make them out to be.

Which is refreshing.