Tell me, what is it about Tuesdays? What is it about February? What is it about today, the intersection of the two, that causes such misery? I was born on a Friday in July, you know. I was not made for this sort of thing. What is it about me, anyway? Why can I get in the 98% percentile in the PSATs but not open my mouth in an in class discussion? Why do I put off homework for hours just to complain about how bored I am? Whywhywhywhy.
All I want is to go to sleep (and never wake up). But that's not true. I want so much more than that. I want the beach, even with the sand that gets everywhere and the salt water that stings your eyes. Even that. I want anonymous cities, vortexes of libraries, Central Park in May, the desert sky. I want a tree house to live in. I want dumb things and intellectual things and gourmet dessert and gummy worms passed under a sleeping bag. I want everything unattainable. I don't know what I want.
e: finished the school
me: awesome possum
i finished my will
i give everything to my cats
My tea went cold. I poured the rest of it into the sink, feeling only slightly guilty. It wasn't all tea. Some of it was tears.
In a few days I will look back at this and not feel the same way. It will seem stupid, dramatic. And then another night, a long time from now, I will read it and want to cry because that's exactly how I feel.
This song still makes me cry.
So I'm just going to keep listening to Bon Iver until I feel okay. It will come.