Just thinking. again

Having those thoughts again, that this isn't my life.
I don't know exactly what I'm looking for, I only know this isn't it. This isn't all I have to give this life. This very short life we live.
Maybe I just had a bad day, a bad couple of days all blurred into one as the weeks merge together- but I can't fathom how unsatisfied I am.

I worked hard to get a decent full time job.
I worked hard to get promoted and become a supervisor.
I am working hard to do well in the role.
I worked hard to leave home fully
I worked to get this house with the man I adore
I am filling it bit by bit with pieces that will make up our home
But every day I feel like I arrive home at 6 and I look back over my day with a sense of complete disappointment. I am capable of more.

I feel quite alone here, when I'm at home. The Tower is just now starting to feel like a real home with Christmas decorations and twinkling lights, and a fluffy rug we've fucked on- making another memory that binds us together and nearly broke our backs. Yet, I feel a big empty space.
Some people think a dog is what's missing. Others say it's time for children to fill these rooms.
I want both- but it's not that.
I know having those things will be wonderful but they wont change this disappointed feeling.

Everything I have is amazing. Jones is amazing. My friends and my house- it's all wonderful. It's me that I'm disappointed in. Wow...that's hard to say out loud but I wrote it down without thinking. I am disappointed in myself. Knowing I was meant for something better, something creative.
"My business is to create"
My business is to take asshole's complaints and deal with office drama" -yeah sure.
I sold orders of my handmade crafts to people at work and it inspired a new confidence in me. This is what I want. To create and to live from it. Nothing will ever chase this need out of me, but you can't eat dreams, far fetched hopes can't pay the bills.

I'm only 23. I still have time right? Time enough to fix this. I wish I didn't feel as if I'd settled on the ordinary, because I am not ordinary, to pretend to be so would be to accept defeat and spiral into madness.

I wrote some of my new book tonight, after months of silence in my head. I wrote because I couldn't stand the thought of going to bed again with nothing but the memories of todays office work to lull me to sleep, in dreams where phones ring and people complain. I wrote because I still believe it's my way out. My only way. My business is to create.