IN-SANITY?

I feel a little bit like I am losing my mind. I've been writing, too much, writing non-stop but saying absolutely nothing. Pages and pages of mixed messages, pages of words, none of them really able to get at what I am trying to say. And ideas, lots of good ones, but too many at once, too hard to carry out, my mind always buzzing. Trying to figure out what this means, since when did I become more fun, since when did I start making friends, since when did I get so lost in my life that I can no longer see myself in it clearly? I feel fine, no I feel happy, I feel like I have nestled my way into a nice spot, a niche. And yet, I am worried, the last few days almost in a panic, I think I have gotten to lost in my own happenings, I have forgotten to properly worry about everyone else's.
Time is slipping through my fingers, in a way it never has, and time used to scare me so much, but I am not worried, I figure I will just keep making fun for myself, forever, until it is time to go back into the Earth. But I do worry that I am changing, too much, keep wanting to call my mom and ask her "Mom, is this ok? Mom, am I becoming something worthwhile?"
My age of "rebellion" is coming at a stunted time (because my parents never gave me anything to rebel against), and I am hesitant about it, asking "am i doing this right?", as though there is a right way after all. Thank goodness for my mother for never being terrified of my choices, for allowing me to talk her ear off, to sort my thoughts. Though maybe I talk too much. I don't know. I am worried. Mostly, I am always checking myself and I've stopped, which is good on my behalf, but maybe not good on everyone else's. Am I living for myself, or for everyone else? I still haven't decided. I am wondering if I can find the right balance.
What is it with this? This not being able to express myself properly? I feel so concerned about myself, not in a real way, but in a distant way, I usually don't go full force in life like this. No, I never go full force, I am always teetering on the edge so I have some option of turning around, some sort of choice in direction. But I am going full force, without any sense of direction, which is really how I like it, but I keep peeking over my shoulder, a small voice telling me I should probably check the situation a little more, before deciding that this is who I am, this is where I am going. But I don't want to. I am worried I am going through this stage too late, with no one here to help me make sure that I am doing OK.

And what is it with me and this blog? Does anyone read it besides Sarah? I assume not, maybe I make it too personal. Maybe I should just send her e-mails. But something about pretending there is an audience makes my writing different, usually better, usually a little less frantic, usually a little more poetic. I have piles of ideas for essays in my head, want to write a whole book about my Autogeography, half prose about my personal attachments to the places that have nursed me into this fine young 20 years old, half essays about their history. Madison has a great history of protesting, something that I have been enthralled with forever, have heard stories and stories about from the various rabble rousers that raised me. Even though I am moving forward, full force, I am inquiring more and more about my past, wanting to collect it.

I get to see Grandma in a week, I am so excited to talk her through my 19th year, to see what she has to tell me.