A Little Prayer For You.

Okay so I think I found something that might be lacking in my life.  It’s been far too long since I’ve used a form of public transportation.   I remember the very last time though:  It was a dreary, cold day (the best kinds of days for publicly transporting one’s self) and I was on my up a small mountain on a large bus.  Okay, so I was going to ski club in of the the school-ordered coach buses.  But that’s what is so great about riding in vehicles: the contrast between the fast-paced motion of the outside in my window and the stationary nature of myself drives my mind into places it cannot be when it is in control, focused, and in motion.   It’s romantic: the sped blur of land.  A geography is quickly traversed.  I could stare out this window for hours. But I’m allowed to think freely, while traversing and sitting still.  I used to ride the bus every morning - and while cars are lovely and mine in particular is a sparkly, beautiful blue - I have to drive it.  Why yes, I roll through town like the most bad-ass Volkswagen conductress, however my exquisite jams and cool shades do not suffice for the repose which I so desperately need. I need pleather with cracks in it, with white cushioning peeking through, and smudged windows, perhaps a bit fogged from my warm breath, and a scarf decorating my throat and collarbone - I would like that charming nuisance of a rattle, whatever was that rattle? I need to be very insignificant.  I need to be hidden.  But still see. I need a greater municipal authority to extend my mind

Disillusioned = the word of the year. I have no idea what’s going on anymore, what my life means, what anyone’s life means - and I am surely nowhere near the answer. I’m not stoned, high, drunk, tired, depressed, imbalanced - I’m disillusioned. The only cure is might be time.

Not every thing that is necessary will be taught to you; you can’t pay for every lesson.

DON’T FORGET. Whatever you do… never forget.  (I’m so afraid I’m going to forget).

I don’t think it is for me.  I don’t think I was ever intended to be in the position of going to an American high school, in the years 2008-2012.  Punks can say what they want, and so can freaks, but I really feel like I have never fit anywhere, and I don’t think I’m normal at all.  And it appears to me that people who are normal have plenty of people to text at all times, they have some sort of friend network, they have trouble with boys or they have too much trouble with boys, and a lot of the time they go to prom - they can name other people they’re graduating with, and usually, they’re friendly.  I just don’t know how to go about those things. Woody Allen’s most recent film, A Midnight in Paris, coined it all perfectly - it was outrageously relatable.  Owen Wilson’s character speaks of a sort of disorder he has, in which he truly believes he belongs in another time period.  Owen Wilson’s character is a writer, a little awkward, not terribly liked, oh and he has a bitch of a girlfriend played by Rachel McAdams.  While he realizes at the end of the film that his feeling is steadfast in all time periods - that no one is truly satisfied in their own era, and believes another would be better - it doesn’t take away from my belief in this said “disorder.” When I say this I mean it:  I don’t understand how people text today.  How it works, the exchange of phone numbers, discovering of phone numbers, the conversation accompanied by it - it literally makes no sense to me.  Social aspects of life, when combined with technology, don’t appeal to me, and thus I am cast from a social sphere. And I don’t understand why I can’t find anyone else like that - someone who doesn’t want to have sex on their phone, but in a bed; someone who doesn’t settle for less in other people, but takes the challenge; someone who isn’t afraid to be who they are, even if they must suffer the out-casting.   The worst part is I don’t know if I’m ever going to find that person.  Does location really make a difference?  Reality tells me tragic opposition.  I guess, I wonder if I’m going to be in love with a keyboard and a cat for the rest of my life, if I’m ever going to find satisfaction in my peers, and if I’ll ever be comfortable in that particular skin. But does time make a difference?  If location doesn’t, how could time?  I feel void.

I will always remember it: green and magenta stripes.

I think it’s kind of funny how everyone is just realizing it’s all coming to an end, no offense to them or anything.  It’s even funnier though, because all my life I’ve pushed things to the last minute, I’ve always been struck dumb with reality once it’s almost too late.  But  it was actually last summer when I totally broke down, knowing that one stage of my life was slipping away and another was quickly approaching.   It was mid-summer, and with a few unexpected turns of events it occurred to me I was no longer a child.  And no, I don’t mean I “became a woman” (or any other innuendos… you sick bastards).  But I knew I was then an adult.  I cried in the shower, several times.  Which may I note, is the best way to cry and get the full pathetic, self-deprecating effect out of it.  Crying in the shower is really a metaphor: you’re cleansing yourself, ridding your body of all the scum - physically and emotionally.   You could say I washed off my innocence with a luffa. But that’s what is so strange; I never prepare.  But maybe my body knew.  Perhaps it knew that I couldn’t suffer another meltdown, at such a critical time as now.  Maybe it knew there would simply be too much business to take care of.  So it planned ahead, as unnatural as that is for me, and sprung for the graduation/growing-up tears a year early. So here I am now, almost completely finished.  I’m registered for University.  I have one graduation cord, another on the way.  I’m even lined up for an award.  It’s all coming together - but soon going to all fall apart.  And I’ve never been more excited.