We hung out tonight. And it was pretty rad. For once, it felt like the way I imagined it should feel. And it makes me happy
Riding home in his car, he had foreign music playing. It wasn't actually foreign, I knew the band, I've seen them in concert before. The words were foreign to me, I was unfamiliar with them. He knew them by heart.
Sometimes, I feel like life is an unfamiliar song. Just when you get the hang of the chorus, a new verse comes along and changes everything on you. Usually, I'm the first to become frustrated with a new tune to learn, but this time around...it doens't feel so much new, maybe just a revamp of an old chorus.
I have my theatre final tomorrow...I should probably do some sort of studying for it... :/ I'd rather not ruin this good mood with work though.
I walked out of the bookstore listening to "It's the most wonderful time of the year" $43 richer after selling my theatre textbook back. Perhaps today is the most wonderful time of the year. Not the season in general, but the day alone...it's a good thing.
This morning, I woke up, and was just laying there for a while. The T.V. wasn't on, there was no loud music playing from the streets. Only the sun streaking through the window at 10:30 as I contemplated waking up for the day for my 1 o'clock final. And then I heard it. And it was only then when I began to hear my heart beat that I realized I hadn't heard it for so long. Like a favorite song that you'd forgotten was your favorite until you hear it after a long time of not listening to it. It's that feeling. And then I tried to think of why it was beating so heavily this morning. Like the cat sitting next to me on the bed purring, it was almost as though my body were purring for me, for it felt so content. Fed, well slept, happy. That's me.
Ah, the sounds of the day are courtesy for The Verve Pipe.
"Can't be held responsible"
It's funny how he and I seem to play this merry go round in a cycle of emotions. I'm the freshman now.
"Fell in love in the first place"
The fluroescent lifhgts flicker and I think "This could be the start of something great" The fluresecent lights hanging over my head at 3a.m. just to keep me awake. I could write something great on that. If I don't ruin my minimum wage hands first though.
"She's in college...responsible adult,"
Yes, I'm the responsible college student that'll buy you beer, get you drunk, and introduce you to a bunch of honry college fresmen who will all be more than willing to take advantage ofyou.
"Don't worry, I'll make sure she's home by bedtime."
Music escaped the stage and reached it's tendruls into every free space it could find int he hearts of the audience and myself.
*All in life can be fixed, with a big enough bandaid.
I once used to say that I wished my life was a musical. I went to see Sweeney Todd with brother and dad today. It made me realize something...if my life were a musical, I'd be singing the same damn song, over and over, without reprise. It'd be a sad woeful tale of unrequited love and sadness mixed ever so briefly with the excitement of hope demolished by the angst of despair. There would be no reprise that suggests resolution of the matter.
I wish I could be more tolerant. I wish I could have spirit. I wish I could be happy. I wish a lot of things, mostly for the things that I am not right now.
It's these days that make me realize who I am, and who I would like to be. I fear I am incapable of becoming any sort of person I wish to be someday. It's too hard, and I feel weak. I'm worn and torn and have taken wear the past few months, and amno llonger capable of growing and evolving.
That's the thing about growth spurts, you experience the most in one long spurt at the most inopportune moment, and then go a long while without growing at all, without gaining insight.
I'm at a cross in the road where I've learned all my brain can consume for the moment. There is nothing new it's willing to absorb.
The other night, it was all of us, hanging out in Michelle's basement, just like old times. Making stupid jokes, laughing for no good reason, being kids. Two nights in a row we sat in her basement until the wee hours of the morning. And it's those nights that I wish I could bottle emotion for moments like this, that I feel so incredibly drained and devoid of anything.
I wish I'd taken the time out to write back then, for now I can barely recall the immense happiness that dwelled inside me those late tired nights.
Now, it's a not-so-late tired night, and I have nothing but ill words to share here.
Except for the fact I got a new Camera, and a few new books.
The Man Suit by Zachary Schomburg (he taught my english150 class that I really liked)
The Tent by Margaret Atwood (it's a collection of essays, short stories, and poetry done by the feminist Atwood)
Wicked by I'm not exactly sure, but it's Wicked, it needs no outro to explain.
I hightly recommend them, specifically The Tent. But, I'm biased as I am a feminist writer, and slightly idolize Atwood's writing.
I want to write. Is that so crazy?