I’m sitting here, after midnight, longing. What am I longing for? Time, options, sleep, freedom, summer to start back over at this day and hour, to extend itself just for this year. Who am I kidding? I’m selfish. There’s never enough time according to the “greats” and the not to be lessened but not as “great” as the society deemed ones. But anyone who can grasp and understand this concept is genius because they acknowledged this. Seems a little too late for me. I’m sitting here writing this…this ode…this effervescent note…this thing that tingles on my brain, urges me to write it. The secret is, I’m afraid. I’m afraid to want or need someone more than I think I should. It’s scary. It’s invigorating. It’s powerful. I am one of those cliches, you know the ones. The ones you cringe away from because how dare anyone act that way. How dare they believe in something so universally deemed that it’s near impossible for anyone to grasp it. The desperation you feel when those songs…those damned catchy radio hits that complain and whine about those feelings that you don’t even want or THINK about possessing. I am broken and resewn together. I have crashed and rehabilitated. I am not the same person that I entered this summer being. Not even the same person I entered this year being. I have lived. I have given in, caved, and ripped things to shreds. I have learned that we as individuals or naturally self-reflective. Self-involved. But it takes true strength to take in someone else under your wing and nestle them into the nook that may or may not be the thing that has a similar name, often mistaken as, the organ in your body that gives you life. At times, I crack, my weakness shows and I am willing to leave it all. Or stupidity is amplified, and the only thing between me and the orange jumpsuit is erasing myself from the equation. I can’t because I’m invested. Whatever that all entails. I’m sure in time, I’ll figure it out. Time. Time. Time. I need it. It escapes me.
I’m sitting here in the fucking dark wondering why I allowed myself to chicken out of leaving my home region, and here I am wallowing. I want to get out of here. I want to escape, but I’m so tired of this. I’m becoming so secretive. I’m afraid to share anything. God Help Me. What the hell is wrong with me?
Sometimes I feel like I’m changing and growing as I get older, but then I get around my friends and it’s like an old Blink-182 video.
I mean seriously, how much longer can I refer to my friends as “dude” and “man.”
Probably doesn’t matter though.
What the hell am I talking about?
But then again, I’m feeling extra lazy.
Always make time for art.
I’m thinking of doing my own comic again like I did when I was in fourth grade.
As the last semester of my junior year of college rapidly occurs, and the inevitability of graduation looms over my head, I can’t help but feel that I should have maybe got a trade and then come back to school to major in what I’m majoring in.
People tell me that I won’t be able to find a job. I can see this. Do I like it? Nope.
I’m freaking the fuck out. I’m as cool as a damn cucumber when you talk to me, but inside my guts are on fire, flipping the fuck out.
There are no guarantees, and I know this. I’m still hopeful. Still wanting. Still attempting to be in control. Listening to The Used like no tomorrow (Pieces Mended). It may or may not be the reason behind this confession-esque type post. Pardon me for being me.
I am ever stoic except when I am on the edge of my yearly (in actuality monthly) breakdown. Is graduate school in my future? Who the fuck knows.
Is anyone even reading this shit?