Waiting

I think I've mentioned that the future is coming. And things are going to change. And I'm excited for the things I can't wait for. And terrified for the things I can.

I can't wait to be out of here, to be in college, where I don't have to be home at a certain time and I can eat whatever I want. Although I'm not sure I can completely trust myself as far as food goes. I can't wait to be somewhere I don't have to watch my siblings treat my mom the way they shouldn't.

I can wait to say goodbye to the people who have meant the most to me. I can feel my heart breaking at the thought of more goodbyes. I've said too many already.

I can't wait to turn 18 and go clubbing with my friends who already have. Sometimes it's hard being months younger than the rest of the seniors. Graduates. College freshmen? Moving on.

I can wait to start packing up my bedroom and cleaning out years of memories, laughter, and heartache. They've made me who I am. I can't take most of it to college, and although I don't want to throw away all my sentimental stuff, the truth is I'd probably never miss it after it was gone and I need everything I don't bring to fit in the closet under the stairs.

I can't wait to finally get Netflix and be able to watch Star Trek as much as I want to. Actually, that's not a priority, but I'd still like it because I am totally a Trekkie. Oh crap, I don't know if I'll even have a TV at college. Crap.

I can wait to stop having the park so close by. It's become my safe place, and it'll be weird not being able to walk there every day if I just need a break. I have a feeling the cemetery will become my new safe place, and I'm all right with that, even though it sounds more than a little morbid.

I can't wait to see if I get a letter back and find out if she meant what she said and if I mean as much to her as she means to me. If I can write her letters then maybe I don't have to say goodbye.

I can wait to lose the piano. Even though I'm the only one who ever plays it at home, I don't think I'll have room for it in the dorm. Which is unfortunate, but I should consider myself lucky that there are other options for where I can play. But still, it's not quite the same.

I can't wait to see them again and find out if things change in the years they're gone. I'm afraid they will, but I hope they don't, because I've already said goodbye once and I'd hate to have to say it again for real.

I can wait to no longer have a car and use the bus system to get everywhere. Or maybe use a bike. I always liked biking, but I never used it as a method of actually transportation before, it was more of an enjoyment thing.

I can't wait to stop keeping secrets that shouldn't need to be kept, but I wonder if not having to keep them to myself will make them seem less special.

I can wait to start paying my own bills. It's too bad that I have to have responsibility along with independence. But that's part of growing up and I think having responsibility will make me more responsible.

I can't wait to meet someone and fall in love. Maybe I already know him or maybe not, but either way, perhaps he can start to fill the hole in my heart.

I can wait to meet someone and fall in love. If I love someone I'm giving him the power to hurt me. He could help fill the hole or he could make it bigger. And I'm so afraid of making the wrong decision that I'm worried I'll never make that decision at all.

I can wait for him to leave. I don't want to forget his laughter before I even have time to commit it to memory. I don't want to have only the feeling of his arms around me to hold onto. I don't want to say goodbye again.

I can't wait to make it to Paris. I've been dreaming of Paris for over a year. But believe me when I say that I will go there. It may not be for a year or five or ten, but it will happen, because how could it not?

I can't wait to find out where my true home is. I think once I get away from the house I've come to call home I can figure out what home really is to me. Maybe it's not a house but a church. Or maybe it's not even a building. Maybe it's a city. New York or Paris. I hope I find out. 

And I think I'm almost done waiting.

Seven

Do you want to know how many times this week I've wished I could rewind time?

I'm going to tell you anyway.

Seven. And it's only Tuesday.

Sometimes I think life would be easier if I just got in a car wreck on my way to work and went into a coma and never woke up. Because then I wouldn't actually have to deal with life. I could just slip away without even knowing that's what I was doing.

No, I'm not suicidal, just struggling.

There is nothing I want more than to be around people right now, but the thought fills me with dread. I don't think I could handle myself around people right now. To tell the truth, I don't think I deserve anyone. I'm not good enough for the people who somehow still say they want to be around me.

Maybe I'm being too hard on myself. But I don't think so.

And since I'm leaving for 12 hours early tomorrow morning, maybe I'll have time to sort out my feelings and I won't feel so undeserving of every good thing in my life when I get back.

But for right now I'm going to stay at home trying to come to terms with myself while I watch Star Trek with my mom and play solitaire. Have you ever noticed that 'solitaire' sounds kind of like 'solitude'? It's because solitaire is a lonely game and solitude is a lonely thing. 

I've been playing for the last hour and a half. I have a winning streak of 6 games and I want to keep going strong but my stock pile doesn't have an eight of spades and the ace of clubs is buried somewhere in the uncovered cards. So I'm kind of stuck.

If only that were the worst of my problems. You know, the fact that I'm sitting here playing solitaire is a worse problem than the fact that I'm not sure how to win the game.

I found the ace of clubs and my winning streak is now at 7 games. I've won 76.67% of the games I've played in the last three days and it's pathetic that I'm even saying that, but like I said before, solitaire is a lonely game.

And even though it's entirely my own fault, I'm feeling very lonely right now.

What I Think About

up and down thrown around humming 

breathe in breathe out breathe in out in just breathe you can do it I know you can 

dont you miss him no okay fine yes he was my shoulder to cry on 

stop crying but I want to go home you dont know where home is

stop crying but I cant youre lost arent you yes I am did you just figure that out

you need another job but of course you dont want one 

leave me alone I wish the world would stop spinning

if I could stop time for just a moment and let that moment stretch into forever
I cant sleep and I keep forgetting to eat this is so unhealthy
stop thinking or youll just keep getting more scared
shut up why would I not be scared of course Im scared
you need help yes I know that are you crazy yes I am
is there anything you can do about that if there was dont you think I would have done it by now
got a postcard from a friend in italy wow I wish I was in italy right now
but youre not yes I know will you stop telling me things I already know
fine whatever you want calm down Im sorry
so now I need to take the next step I should work on finding another job
thats what you said today and you just played the piano for two hours
and then I need to start packing for college and work out my plans for paying for it
dont forget that deadline is in barely over a week
yes I know please stop distracting me I need to focus 
youre never focused right and whose fault is that pray tell
and I should also do fun things with my friends so I dont look back and regret this summer
remember what happened last summer yes thank you I remember
youre getting really annoying do you want me to be completely unprepared
no actually I want to help then stop talking to me so I can concentrate
and then I need to what do I need to do next I know theres something else
you have no idea what youre doing do you
be quiet Im fine youre completely lost no Im just fine
you know what fine stands for right shut up please Im still fine
stop lying to me I know you better than that you're lost and scared and alone and empty
and you need help dont you know there are people who will help you
stop it I don't need your commentary
yes you do you need it more than you know
no I dont I dont need you I dont need your advice and I can do this just fine without you
okay fine Ill stop arguing with you I wish you luck
thank you now leave I have things to do
Im leaving just remember what I said
didnt you hear what I said 
I said leave 
and dont come back

Spring Cleaning

Well, I guess it's more like summer cleaning. 

The other day I found some old receipts in my closet. I had to force myself to throw them away. I wanted to keep them because of the memories hidden in the faded ink. 

The past is the past and holding onto it isn't helping me at all. 

I really need another job. 

Do you realize that I'm moving out to go to college in just over two months? That's so soon.

Why did tears just come to my eyes? Oh, right, I know why. 

It's because the future is coming and I'm terrified. And apparently I cry when I'm scared.

I can't think straight.

My memories are becoming more distant and the present more dreamlike. I can't stop wondering how my life could be different.

I can't stop wondering how my life is going to turn out, and if people see me as abrasive and pushy. I can't stop questioning myself.

I don't know where I belong.

I'm carrying this sadness around in my chest and it's spreading. This ache in my heart that won't go away and I don't know how to make it.

I think I need a therapist.

I know I need answers, but I don't know how to find them.

I am completely lost.

Understand Me Better

If you really knew me, you'd know I used to wish my hair was straight and blonde, but over the last year I've fallen in love with the soft curl of my brown hair and the feeling of it falling over my shoulders. With the way it looks kind of golden in the sunlight and the way the wind blows it across my face.

You'd know that I wish my hair was long but then when I get it cut I usually take off four to six inches because I want someone to notice.

You'd know I got glasses after I graduated and that I like them.

You'd know that I don't really like shopping. That might just be because I don't usually have the money for it.

You'd know that I work around the clock, up at all hours of the night and day because I feel like I have to be tightly stuck to a militaristic schedule or I'll waste my time. You'd know I waste time anyway.

If you really knew me you'd know that I mostly go to Starbucks to make my parents worry a little. You'd also know that I actually do love Starbucks, even though maybe I'm not supposed to.

You'd know I like tank tops and fake tattoos and I only feel a little bit guilty about it.

You'd know that I've become happier since I started caring less what other people think.

You'd know know that I love listening to Spanish love ballads and that, strangely, sad music helps my soul.

If you really knew me, you'd know that I'm afraid to fall in love and get married, but that I feel deeply lonely thinking that it might not happen. You'd know I've tried not to love people because it hurts more often than not. You'd know I gave up on not loving people.

You'd know I've made a habit of crying on my way home from work late at night because it makes me feel better. You'd know I've also developed a habit of going to the creek for a little while every afternoon because it feels like home.

You'd know that I'm afraid of falling but not of flying.

You'd know that I'm an honest person but it's hard sometimes because I'm a really good liar.

If you really knew me, you'd know that I'm not mad at you for not knowing these things, I'm mad at myself for not letting you know them. You'd know that the reason I try not to let people in is because I'm afraid of being rejected, and you'd know that I tend to end up letting people in anyway.

You'd know I have things I want to do this summer but I haven't gotten around to planning them.

You'd know I don't do well in group settings.

If you really knew me, you'd know I feel the most beautiful when I can't see myself in the mirror. You'd also know that the only person I really need to think I'm beautiful is me.

If only you really knew me. You'd know I just want you to understand me better. 

Closer Than Before

I feel a terrifying exhilaration from being up so high. Below me I see lights that fade into the fog and mountains with rivers of clouds running between them. And then I arrive.

The streets are narrow, filled with crowds and taxis, and people spill from the sidewalk whenever they feel like it, eliciting a vehement reaction from the drivers, meaning the angry sound of a car horn.

The air is hazy and smells like smoke, but not necessarily in a bad way. I kind of like it. Even the ever-present smell of coffee and cigarette smoke doesn't seem so bad after a while.

There are so many people hurriedly going about their lives in their own way and they seem both lost and full of purpose at the same time. Many of the people here are well-dressed, most talking on cell phones or listening to whatever is playing through their headphones as they make their way to some destination unknown to me. I think I could fit into this orderly kind of chaos. This is somewhere I could eventually come to call home if I wanted to.

There's a Starbucks on every street and they sell coffee-free products, something I didn't know until recently. Despite my desire to rebel, I still don't drink coffee, but I don't mind the smell anymore now that I've spent so much time in a coffee shop. A guy at Starbucks called me 'sweetheart.' Even though I'd never met him before, he chose those words as his parting ones and I remember it.

I can't sleep. Even the nights feel like days. Although I'm exhausted, at one in the morning my priorities are still with people before sleep.

I have a map to tell me where to go. I have to walk everywhere, but that only makes my destination more worthwhile. I want to do it all, but there's never enough time to see everything, so I'll just have to come back someday. Especially for the cathedrals and chocolate shops.

I'm going down memory lane without meaning to. I'd call it nostalgia, but by definition that requires a wistful desire or sentimental yearning to return to the past and I possess neither of those. My childhood dreams have been crushed because what I thought was true turned out to be a lie. 

I can't stop watching the woman sitting across from me. I've never met her, and I don't know anything about her except that she has a story. I wish I knew her story. Everyone has their own story and I wish I could know them all, but there are billions of stories I will never know. I hope someone knows them.

No matter where I am, the wind makes me feel alive and I start to think. First about space. It's so big and no matter how hard we try, we will never unlock the secrets of the universe because it's just too big. But I try not to think about it because thinking about it only makes it bigger.

Then my thoughts turn to art. Not many people think about art in the same way I do. But art is what you want it to be. Not a talent people are born with. Not what someone is willing to pay for it. Art is what you make it, the spirit you give it, what it means to you. That's why I keep going off by myself. I'm trying to find something I can't really name, but I know I'll miss it if I'm with the group. I've almost missed it already.

My friends told me I'm a natural anyway. That I could live here and be able to handle it because I can find my way around. It could be home. I'm coming to enjoy the clicky sound my high heels make on cement, even though they pinch my feet, and the smell of the bookstore on the corner makes me feel right at home. The smell of lemon oil reminds me of home even more.

I've been watching someone who reminds me of a dear friend. In his hair, his mannerisms, his voice, his smile, I couldn't stop thinking about my friend for the rest of the night. Afterward, I felt tears of joy and sadness at the same time. 

I see the world crying for what happened over twelve years ago and have discovered the universal sign of shock and denial, but I still stop to recognize the beauty in the sight of rain collecting on and sliding off her umbrella, and take comfort in the sound of the raindrops hitting the top of mine. I'm learning that it's so much harder to fix broken things than to prevent them from breaking in the first place.

When it's time for me to leave, saying goodbye isn't as hard as I thought it would be. One last visit to Starbucks and I get the feeling I'll be back again. I hope so.

New York isn't Paris, but it's close enough for now.

The Perfect Me

Once I thought it would be nice to be perfect. Now I'm glad I'm not, because if I was perfect, I would be expected to do great things. Things that would change the world instead of changing human lives.

If I was perfect, I would already have a second job and be in the process of finding a third instead of planning summer adventures with long-lost friends, relatives, past teachers, and people I've only met twice.

If I was perfect, people wouldn't criticize me. They wouldn't be able to say I was doing anything wrong, but they wouldn't be able to tell me what I was doing right, either. I would never be rejected and I would never be accepted.

The perfect me would never have lopsided curls and her glasses would be centered on her face. Actually, she probably wouldn't have glasses and her hair would be straight as a stick. But I like my curly hair and I don't like cliches.

If I was perfect I would never have to use the eraser on my pencil, so I'd use pen and then everything would be permanent.

The perfect me would have a pair of shoes for every day of the month and she'd never go barefoot because she couldn't let the bottoms of her feet be blackened by dirt or asphalt.

If I was perfect people would say they wanted to be my friend but no one would ever make an effort to be. I would be indescribably lonely.

If I was perfect, I wouldn't have anyone, because even if two people are perfect, that doesn't mean they will be perfect together.

The perfect me would be intimidating and unapproachable, and people would probably think she was stuck-up.

The perfect me would never go to the aquarium or the zoo or an amusement park because successful people know that those are a waste of time and money. They forget that some memories are priceless.

The perfect me would get a master's degree in family law and get married immediately thereafter to a man she thought would make her happy. She'd have two wonderfully well-behaved children, a boy and a girl, who had everything but at the same time had nothing because their parents were too busy making money to make friends with their own children.

If I was perfect I wouldn't spend time every day walking in freezing cold water and letting mud squish between my toes. I wouldn't ask anyone to meet me there to just talk, because I wouldn't understand the value of understanding.

The perfect me wouldn't ever lose her wallet or her cell phone or her bobby pins because everything would always be in its place.

If I was perfect, people would pay attention to everything I do wrong and forget to focus on what I do right.

If I was perfect, I would be pretending. I would pretend that my perfection was worth my isolation when really it wasn't.

The perfect me would never know what she was missing out on. She wouldn't feel sad, but she wouldn't feel happy. She wouldn't understand the way the world really works and she wouldn't understand herself. She wouldn't know that beauty is found in imperfection.

If I was perfect, I would never start laughing while drinking soda and I wouldn't spill anything. I'd stop tripping over my own feet.

If I was perfect, I would be irrecoverably flawed. I'd be skinny to a fault and forever worried about my appearance.

If I was perfect, the only thing I would regret is everything.

The perfect me would be someone people praised but nobody actually talked to.

If I was perfect, I wouldn't be able to appreciate the bruised and broken things because I would never see them.

If I was perfect, I'd never be able to love myself because I wouldn't know what I was supposed to love.

If I was perfect, I wouldn't be real.


Because imperfections are beautiful and imperfect people are more inspiring than perfect ones because of the way they deal with their imperfections. Perfection isn't worth the heartache that inevitably will follow. And that's all right with me because I may not be perfect, but I'm worth it.