I checked out the book hoping to learn how to write a lyric essay. The book ended up teaching me how to survive my current, chaotic life.
This was a book with a great deal of notes. Twenty-two pages of notes. Twenty-two pages I thought I had left. I assume this feeling is a toned down heartache like someone who is given news that they don’t have much time left to live. “No!” I thought. “I thought I had more left!” I thought!
I hope no one takes offense to that previous statement. I have been thinking a lot about getting older and not feeling like I have enough time left as my twentieth birthday draws near. This Saturday I will be twenty. I will no longer be a teenager, but I don’t think I have reached the milestones of a teenager. I don’t think I am ready to let go of being a teenager. There are too many sappy YA novels I have yet to read! It’s too soon! I need more time! I’M NOT READY! But this is what I said last year. This is what I will probably say for the rest of my life. It’s funny. I used to be terrified of monsters, as most little girls are, but Halloween felt like this necessary evil to get my birthday (me day) and that it was the only way I could get presents and cake. I had this fear of growing up when I was a kid, too. I would have panic attacks about it, but it was because I realized as I got older, so did my mother, and my mother would end up dying. I am now a horror movie fan. By the time I was ten I no longer feared scary masks. I relish in Halloween, but now fear my birthday.
You think it will be like reuniting with old friends. It is, but it’s like reuniting with old friends you haven’t kept in touch with. You’ve grown as a person and they stayed the same, and that’s the problem.
A better way to describe going through my old stories is that it is a cat lady finding a long-dead cat. It’s a soul-crushing experience. You hold those pages and read the drivel you once thought just needed a little work. It was much more than little. You are gagging! You are going to be sick. This was something you I cared about. It’s my fault this happened. I put it away for a time when I could make it the story I wanted it to be… Essentially I put the kitty in the bathroom. I knew it was in the bathroom. I thought I gave it enough food and water to last a while, and I thought it would be fine, but now I am looking at this and I am thinking I AM A HORRIBLE PERSON! I should have never had a cat! I think about my other stories. LOOK AT THIS ONE, THOUGH! LOOK AT IT! I SHOULDN’T HAVE ANY! I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE ENOUGH! I AM A MONSTER! I SHOULD GET RID OF THE OTHERS BEFORE THEY MEET THE SAME END! Then the most I can do is toss this lifeless object in your hands into the fire, hoping to burn it up and that it doesn’t infect the ones that are still alive and that I know better now.
My crush was planning on transferring to another college. I managed to get his number so we could “keep in touch” once he did. As an act of revenge for not liking me back (this was months ago, by the way) I put him in my phone as Beautiful Eyes Cute Face No Ass.
He ended up transferring to a college in South Carolina, and I have yet to make contact with him.