It’s so poopy how time passes. I love nursing my own bitterness until I realize I’ve disassociated for three months and holy shit now it’s the end of April?! It’s like cracking open a can of coke and sipping at it while surveying the people at the pool until suddenly it’s closing time and somehow it’s about to storm and your coke isn’t finished but now it’s all flat and insipid and there’s an angry wasp trying to crawl into it for the last sugary dregs.
Okay, but I’ve actually been completely aware of how fast time has been passing, because I’ve sunk deep into my own Sad Feels because I’m so scared of leaving my friends and leaving the state and leaving my parents and leaving a small and stupid version of myself behind, and this is just high school but I’m still so scared I can’t handle it sometimes and I just need to sit paralyzed for an hour or so.
As Lorde said, there’s nothing I want but money and time.
Prom is tomorrow OH SHIT and I’m happy but also dissatisfied, which is wholly because my dress isn’t perfect and doesn’t magically turn me into a princess. It does not turn me into some fantastically hot and elegant version of myself that has been hiding behind a lack of confidence all these years and will just come out if I wear the right things and do the right makeup. It’s rather poopy feeling so Plain and so Not Beautiful, and I definitely should Not Care but I do and it’s sucky and I don’t appreciate feeling so insecure about my face when, Jesus Christ, it looks like a face and it has skin and that should be enough, yet somehow it still isn’t. I wanted to look beautiful enough to make people look at me and just think, Damn, but I am not pretty or elegant and I will not have that Hermione Granger Yule Ball Glow Up.
But I’m genuinely happy that I get to go with my friends, whom I appreciate so much, and I just wanna eat food and laugh a lot and drink punch and be really tired in heels all night because, fuck it, if I only do things when I feel perfect and ready and completely satisfied, I’m never going to do anything ever. I have amazing friends and teachers and I write poetry that’s really shitty and I’ve gotten mildly better at makeup, so mostly, I think I’m happy.
I did the zipline during senior wellness, and it was terrifying jumping off—standing at the edge of the platform and looking down and feeling the lurching drop as I stepped onto air—but it was exhilarating and made me feel very free and very in control because I was falling, but totally safe. I told myself I had to do it because I had flown so often in my dreams and this was the one chance I had to make it happen in real life, so I did it, and I actually felt accomplished, which was stupid because a thousand people do it a day, but sometimes stupid victories are the most important ones, because they add up.
I think I want to die more than ever sometimes, but here’s an interesting story related to death that doesn’t make any sense: Yesterday I found a small thin snake in the middle of the road while I was walking to school, and I thought it barely moved when I nudged it, so I picked it up and cupped it in my hands and tried to warm it up as I walked into the sunlight. I thought I could warm it and bring life back into it, even though it wasn’t moving, until I got to school and realized it really hadn’t moved, so I set it on the ground, under a bench, in the sun, still hoping it was just frozen and that its stiffness would change into fluid life. Then, later, when I walked past the bench again, it was still there, and it was obviously dead. Probably had been dead when I picked it up, but I had been hopeful and I’d carried it the rest of the ten minutes to school. I’m very stupid, so there’s a 95% chance that I had been carrying a dead snake in my hands for ten minutes, but there’s the story, which really isn’t that much of a story, but still made me think about mortality and the silly, foolish, illogical faith in the power of warmth and sunlight that compels stupid hopeful people like me to carry dead snakes to school, hoping that they’ll come back to life.
None of this makes any sense. I keep thinking of more things and more plotless stories that have happened recently that I want to write about, and I should. But maybe not now. I’m excited for prom and friends and staying out until four am on Sunday morning during the after prom party and not finishing my 1000-word thesis, the rough draft of which is due on Monday. Excellent.