I have been gone for a long time.

It's because I don't even know where to begin. The story I want to tell in the confines of this journal is incredibly long and detailed. I'm not sure how to start, nor do I have a format in mind.

But I have kept checking this journal weekly, almost as if I hope by some sort of magic an entry will appear. And each week when I check it, I feel guilty for not posting.

So maybe I should post what I want to post and let the story come naturally, instead of trying to force it. If things are out of order, that is what tags are for, isn't it?

I think for today, I will post an entry I wrote in another journal about an hour ago. It's how I'm feeling this morning, and writing it was semi-cathartic. My story will come when it is ready.

7:31a.m.
The computer room is blazing orange.

The sun is rising over Dallas and spilling into my window. The window that I opened just 15 minutes ago in anticipation of morning.

I have a love/hare relationship with mornings. I always have.

Anytime anyone has ever asked me what my favorite time of day is, I have always said dusk. I attribute this to the fact that I seem to come alive at night. While I may get more things done during the day sometimes (and especially when I'm up early), I'm just really, truly Stevie at night. I'm in a better mood, I work harder, I'm much more energetic and I'm more social.

I've always been a night owl. When I was 5, my father caught me reading a book under my covers with a flashlight and an apple at 4a.m. It was the first of many times he caught me, but I could not sleep at nights and would have this burning desire to read. He would take away my flashlight and book and tell me to sleep. I would wait 30 minutes and then go to the bathroom with a different book, faking a stomachache so I would have a few more minutes to read.

I've never actually had a "day" job except once. Strangely, it was a bar job. All the years I was a maid, craftsworker, and a myriad of other random jobs that I held down before I turned 16, I usually worked afternoons. (Oh, I was wrong. I've twice had a day job. When I was a nanny at 15, I had to work 6a.m.-5p.m. for a whole summer. Nearly forgot about that!) When I started in retail, I was homeschooling and was the only "young person" who didn't have to be at school the next morning, so I would get all the evening/night shifts. I started working in restaurants and bars, which were almost exclusively nights (save for the year where I did a 7a.m. Saturday morning training class...but I had closed the night before, and many nights those weeks, so I was still technically nights.) The one bar job I had that was days was at the British pub, where I was the morning bartender for about 5 months before I was given the nights shifts I so desperately wanted.

I'm just more functional and better at night.

But I have always loved mornings. Always. Something about the promise of a new day, a clean slate, starting over...I can't explain how it makes me feel. Hopeful isn't nearly strong enough of a word, and it never will be. I feel renewed, like the feeling you have when you've slept off the flu and suddenly feel yourself again. I feel optimistic.

And I also hate mornings. I hate how I feel the urge to do something with myself and can almost never find anything to actually do. I have all these expectations of where I should be, who I should be, what I should be doing, and I inevitably end up feeling overwhelmed and I lie down. Then the day is wasted.

I waste many days.

I hate waking up in the morning, but I love already being awake when morning dawns. It's almost a magical feeling to watch the sun rise every morning.

One of the things I used to love to do most in the mornings was get dressed as the sun was breaking and go to the nearby deli. I'd get a window seat so I could watch the sun rise while sipping my coffee and eating my grits. I'd bring a book, but I rarely read it. I watched the sun rise while I ate and then I paid my tab and left, driving about aimlessly for an hour or so before going home and getting in bed. (Sleeping during the day is one of my truly favorite things in life.) But I can't do that anymore. Why? Aside from the being broke aspect, any place that is gluten-free is not open this early. Some of the places aren't even open on weekends. And Sunday really is the best day to go for breakfast, so long as you go early enough to miss the crowds. You can pick up a paper on the way home and read in bed. What's not to love about Sunday morning?

Right...the fact that I can't indulge anymore. Maybe one day, someone will open a gluten-free breakfast spot here in Dallas. By then, I'll likely be gone, but it would still be nice for when I come back for visits.

Sometimes, I wish I didn't have to sleep at all. Because I love the morning, and I also love twilight. I love days and I love nights. I hate that I can't be awake to see the beauty of it all because I feel robbed.

So the morning has found me introspective. I can't help it. When left to my own devices for so long, I get lost in my own head. This is the result of that.

January always feels like Sunday morning to me. So much promise, and such a likelihood I will waste it. This year, I am determined not to waste it.

The determination is stronger this year. I don't know if that's because I feel like I've wasted this past year (two years, really) or because I'm now beginning to realize I'm not getting any younger and I've yet to accomplish any of the things I want to accomplish. I will be 30 in less than four years and I will probably have just finished my Bachelor's at that point. I'm sure I will still be in debt, and I won't have traveled to any of the places I wanted to go while still in my 20's.

I am not old, by any stretch of the imagination. But time's a-wasting. If I continue on the path I've been on, I will wake up at 45 wondering why I'm still living at home and paying off credit card debt. I refuse to have those kinds of regrets in 19 years.

I have a list of goals I have made for myself. Not resolutions...I never keep resolutions. And the goals are starting small, because I am not going to kid myself that, after a year and a half of anxiety-induced agoraphobia, I can just step back into my old, high-speed crazy life and not have repercussions. My goals go month-by-month, instead of for the whole year of 2009. They're progressive, because I need time.

And they are very important to me.

If all goes according to plan, I will not be writing a miserable, sad-sack entry this time next year. If all things work out, this time next year I will be content with my progress for 2009. I will have finished my first semester at UTD, I will be a junior, I will have my own place, I will have a large chunk of my debt paid off, I will be working and above all else, I will be happy. No...content. I don't need to be happy at 27. I will settle for content while I work my way back out of this pit of suffering and anxiety. It's all I can ask for right now.

There are potatoes frying in grease somewhere nearby and it smells delicious. I feel like I should be out of the house doing things, but there is nothing for me to do today. So instead, I will write out my list of goals for January and focus on how I can accomplish them.