Journal: The sober edition
Last time I tried this, I was drunk and violently depressed. I embarrassed myself by writing several nasty posts describing my disgust for myself and the world. I mean, I wasn't lying, but it wasn't productive- for myself, or anyone else. No, I wasn't some tragic hero. No, depression doesn't grant me special world knowledge.
I've done some self-searching and realized that I have this hole in me- everyone does. Everyone tries to do things to fill the hole inside them- some fill it with achievements or trying to take care of others. My problem is that I DON'T try to fill the hole- instead, I GLORIFY IT. I can't remember a time in which I didn't revel in the fact that I was 'broken, misunderstood, different'.
When I was 7, no one found me in hide-and-seek at a party once and I spent forever under a small table reveling in the feeling of being an outcast, crying quietly until my dad peeked under and found me, probably wondering what the heck I was doing. I read and lugged around a giant volume of Hans Christian Anderson stories in 4th grade, and buttoned myself up in cardigans, and neat pony-tailed hair with a neat hairband because I was 'different'. I was both inferior and superior at any given time.
When I played with dolls, my storylines almost always involved outcast characters who in trying to find themselves only sink to a new low in their blindness and then they are rescued by the dawn of a rebuilt moral code and some knightly character- like the black sheep of the family tries to pursue her own dreams only to be tangled in a web of drugs and prostitution and then she realizes this isn't what she wants and someone accepts her and helps her back onto the right path. Even at 12, I was desperate for my own storyline of redemption and a hero figure to save me. I felt the hole inside me all too strongly and I figured if I brandished it, maybe my hero figure would recognize it and come and save me, just like in all my dreary doll fantasies.
I loved tragedy. I loved the feeling I got reading about characters being in pain or being sad- I made mental bookmarks of parts of stories that made me suffer the most and then I would revisit them obsessively. It somehow made me feel more real, more alive. I am a natural born masochist.
If I could, I would live off of eating feelings- and usually the more turbulent and raw the feeling is, the better.
But, eating feelings led to stomachaches: I staggered to the nurse's office from 5th grade all the way to 9th grade because of anxiety-induced cramping. I didn't know how not to overdo it.
I was ridiculous. In 7th grade, there was a new kid that was bullied because he was a total brat. But, I ended up glorifying him because I just thought 'A misunderstood outcast! Like me!' I literally didn't see him for who he was at all because I was too enamored with the self I saw in him and then the opportunity I had to BE that hero to redeem him. I refused to see my brother for the hateful and flawed person he was because I ALSO saw myself in him 'So broken! So different!' and I automatically defended him until he made it pretty clear he was definitely NOT this idealized fantasy I had pushed on him.
In 9th grade, I fantasized cutting my hair off, because I was 'different'. I hid in the art room and the library because I was 'different'. I reveled in procrastinating and the jolts of adrenaline in getting stuff done last minute. I reveled in fantasies about suicide and self-harm as much as I reveled in the beauty of lightning or good art- nothing was taboo and everything was equally important and had some prophetic meaning. I wanted to turn myself inside out and see myself reflected in the outside world somehow. Suffering has to have meaning, right? All this feeling different had to have meaning, right?
When I had to move to a new state in 10th grade, the instinct to resist conforming (and any form of healing) flared bright and I refused to make new friends. I was just too different, too unique, too broken- just, too too too. I was lost in reveling in my own narrative. I only made a friend because that person ruthlessly pursued me and then, more importantly, spilled their guts to me- I couldn't resist that. I sensed 'fellow outcast, broken, unique' as the secrets and feelings flowed and I was loyal from then on. Everyone else who hadn't spilled their darkness didn't matter to me.
But, the problem is, most people in life don't relentlessly pursue you and spill their guts to you. I was waiting for that to happen in college, but it never did. Trapped in my own broken and lonely narrative, I spiraled. I clung to boys that I sensed were lonely and troubled, so I wouldn't be lonely for months on end, but it always ended when they realized I wouldn't sleep with them or even kiss them and I could feel their idealized fantasies of me die and it always made me feel worse. I loved being put on pedestals of love and possibility, but I hated being a disappointment. I never made a female friend. Maybe I only sustained boy relationships because I believed that there was no way someone would want to pursue a relationship with me unless I dangled the possibility of 'girlfriend' in their face to keep them there with me. Because without the promise of sex and romance, what was the point of being with someone like me?
I walked through so many city streets, distraught and alone. I felt messed up and thus the world was messed up. I got angry that no kind stranger looked at me and pulled my skinny body close into a hug. The universe was cruel, ridiculous, and uncaring- and because I felt the way I did, that HAD to be the cold truth. I was trying to integrate the pain into my identity and evolve- I blocked my friend from high school, I threw myself into my studies, I buoyed myself on the emotions of the characters of the novel I was writing, I threw myself into diet and exercise. There wasn't anything wrong with me, I was just always different and unique and beautifully broken and now I wasn't getting worse- I was just evolving to being even more true to myself! I was going to become the most perfect version of me!
I walked through the city streets, both as a ghost and a god.
It didn't matter that I had at least a handful of old friends and my family to help me if I reached out- I was unfixable. Because, there was nothing to be fixed.
It was only when I was becoming too weak to exercise properly and was about to put a blade to myself that I decided I might be at what people called 'rock bottom'. I wanted to evolve, not to die. I quit college and admitted that I had an eating disorder. I've said so much, but there is still almost a decade of insanity to recount here.
In summary:
I mean, I wasn't lying, but it wasn't productive- for myself, or anyone else. No, I wasn't some tragic hero. No, depression doesn't grant me special world knowledge.
I was both inferior and superior at any given time.
I felt the hole inside me all too strongly and I figured if I brandished it, maybe my hero figure would recognize it and come and save me.
I am a natural born masochist.
If I could, I would live off of eating feelings- and usually the more turbulent and raw the feeling is, the better.
Nothing was taboo and everything was equally important and had some prophetic meaning. I wanted to turn myself inside out and see myself reflected in the outside world somehow. Suffering has to have meaning, right? All this feeling different had to have meaning, right?
I was lost reveling in my own narrative.
Everyone else who hadn't spilled their darkness didn't matter to me.
The universe was cruel, ridiculous, and uncaring- and because I felt the way I did, that HAD to be the cold truth. I was trying to integrate the pain into my identity and evolve.
I walked through the city streets, both as a ghost and a god.
I was unfixable. Because, there was nothing to be fixed.
Who would be willing to reach out and love me if I wasn't so obviously in need of saving?
...and I hung there, waiting to reform.
I felt betrayed when I realized I was still myself.
This HAD to be the end of the story. It was the only thing that made any narrative sense. My suffering had to have a meaning and if it was to have a sad ending, so be it. At least it was dramatic.
And yet the worst thing was that life went on.
Another line crossed, because, why not? If the world was going to take one avenue of rescue from me, I would find another.
I never allowed myself to fully be in the real world, that was the key.
Nothing was enough.
It felt like I could just keep crossing all these lines in life, yet nothing ever happened.
My life just seems to be one long chain of disillusionment.
There are ugly flowers blooming everywhere and I don't understand anything anymore.
Apparently, people are full of the most mundane faults- all of them. I can either try to accept that fact and find humanity endearing or I can give up and hate everyone because there is no in-between for me.
What a life. What a lovely little merry-go-round.
I tried to become the best version of myself in the beginning, as I always do, thinking that this will the be light at the end of my tunnel. But, I remained myself and I was reminded that I still live in the same world as before and the illusion of hope slipped and kept slipping.
I felt betrayed. I can't help but keep building these fantasies of rescue and the world can't help but knock them back down.
I felt trapped in my own cage as people formed friendships around me. I calmly waited for everyone to start hating me.
Instead, all the same patterns repeated.
I wanted to escape my life and wanted it NOW.
I tried desperately to find meaning.
What came next is somehow worse: I lost myself.
I took the initiative to stop the nightmare.
But, that's also my problem. I identify with my emotions too much.
Even if I consciously want to change, my subconscious will always be screaming in rebellion to stay the same.
I recounted everything bad. Because that makes for a better story. Aren't you going to say that I'm strong? Aren't you going to want to reach out to me now?
But, I'm still so *** dramatic.
I judge everything as either good or bad, when in reality, I'm just dividing up a life that doesn't have any cohesive meaning and is too complex for my need to categorize.
It's the human experience versus the meaninglessness of the universe.
And because of this, I'm constantly teetering on the edge between nihilism and existentialism.
And I was trying to paint a clear picture of myself, but I can't even do that.
What if I wasn't some masochistic mastermind?
I think I don't want to consider....that maybe...I'm a good person.
And maybe, deep down, I know that I am good. I am good, so I crouch under the table where my idealism has left me again and again and, frightened and overwhelmed, the only thing I can do is cry. Or make up more stories. Or swing righteous swords in the wrong directions. Or spend hours journaling, walking in comforting circles of trodden sad thoughts.
I've talked about the past and created all these theories and poems and by doing all this, I've avoided talking about what reality is REALLY like for me.
I dreamt I was the art teacher in my old middle school, except I was 14 years old. My current students were there- and I was hopeless. The school had neglected to give me a class schedule and no one was in the office to help me, so after wandering the hallways, I laid down in the lobby and just went to sleep. There were other students in sleeping bags around me and a female student of mine lended me a sympathetic look, that I knew in real life, she would never give me.
I woke- in real life- to the moans of my brother at 5:00am after he got back from his nightshift. He was calling at my door and then at my parents that he felt like he was dying. I hadn't been able to go to sleep until 4:00am the previous night (because I had been dumb and had a large serving of irish coffee at my mother's birthday celebration) and that had KILLED my yesterday- so I had intended for today to be productive. So, for him to come barreling in with the same anxiety attack he has almost every single time he comes off a shift and screw up a perfectly good night's sleep- I was furious. I had no sympathy because he was always fine after he calmed down. I laid in bed, heart pounding, hoping that if I stayed in the same position, I would fall back asleep- but, sleeping for me has never been that easy. It was a long time before I was able to fall asleep again and that sleep was light and full of fractured dreams.
I finally decided to get up at 9:00am, covered in sweat with my heart pounding. Today had to be a productive day, it HAD to be. I swept myself out of bed, angry that it was beautiful outside and I put on clothes and shoes and sunscreen like a well-oiled robot before heading downstairs with my laptop, notebook, and cellphone. I downed some vitamins, hoping they would help stabilize my mood and keep my brain going. I drank the coffee my dad had left in the pot. I was in the middle of setting up a workspace at the kitchen table and making protein pancakes when my dad walked in from his run and I was jabbed with anxiety. I imagined him setting up at the kitchen table too and using voice-to-text on his phone and jumping on long business calls. He was going to ruin my entire day before I had even had a chance to TRY to begin. But, then, he just commented on the weather like he always did and then took a shower. I burned my monster pancake because I stepped away to use the bathroom and look close-up at all the little freckles, hairs, fine wrinkles I had on my face. I made a second monster pancake and then sat down. My dad made his food and left for work.
As I am finishing up recounting this morning- before I hopefully dive into my to-do list- my brother wobbled and moaned loudly down the stairs in his boxers, looking sickly. I suggested electrolyte tablets only because I was sure that was something he didn't usually try and I thought it wouldn't hurt. He groaned that his right arm hurt and the only thing that helped was water. He stumbled back off cursing at himself and his body that he wasn't having a heart attack. One of the things on the to-do list today is to send him a list of jobs and a list of college majors that would interest him and suit him well so he can quit the nightshift job and stop driving himself and everyone around him insane.
The cat is here to keep me company as I start my first task of many: typing up on my computer the latest writing I had done for my horror story in my notebook. Wish me luck.
As I document the rest of my day so far, am I struck with one question: Why the heck would anyone want to read something so tedious and boring? What's the value in this- it's definitely not entertainment. I guess, since I'm the only one who would be reading this, I would then review the patterns of my every day and use what I learn to gain further insight and improve upon myself and blah blah blah. I'm not even sure this requires proper prose. Maybe, if the only thing I'm looking for are patterns, then the only thing I really need to do is break it down point by point. So, here we go:
(Start of typing up what I had previous written onto the story document)
-Picking up cat and dancing him around.
-E comes up from basement cursing an automated answering system on his phone.
-E turns and rants to me about turning some employees into swiss cheese. I am not appropriately sympathetic.
-C shuffling down hallway for mom to drive him to a clinic.
-E stomping around the porch and venting loudly into his phone to a friend.
-Bathroom break. Amused at my outfit combination of pink Ugg zip-up and the boxy black graphic tee with Godzilla vs. King Kong and the bathtub like a poorly cleaned murder scene where I recently tinted hair red.
-Talking to C- apparently no clinic because he had calmed down. Back to sleep.
-M talking loudly on his phone.
-Mom came down and immediately starts talking about C and did I do this and do I want to go for a walk and wow what a mess and then feeds the dog without guarding the food so I have to get up and shoe the cat away. Mom trying to continue to talk to me. She's crunching and slurping cereal loudly. She burps and loudly does the dishes- clatter and bang. She kept wandering around and throwing comments and questions at me. She eventually goes back upstairs.
(Finish typing- barely can recall what I typed up)
-Noon and finished typing, anxious, but I did type up almost 1500 words, so of course it was going to take me a while regardless.
-Canned mocktail because why not?
-Wrote about a page of story in notebook- nearly 1 o clock. Wish I wasn't surrounded by clocks.
-M and mom arguing loudly outside
-Searching for jobs based on mbti personality type for C and then tailored it to him. Sent it off in an email. Told list to M as him and E came in (probably after smoking weed) and he said nah and I asked him for alternatives and he just said he didn't know. I told him that wasn't helpful.
-Smell of E's omurice makes me nauseous.
-I didn't know what I was doing ordering my new laptop battery so I tried asking M but he was too freaking high to be useful about anything.
-Took a picture and deposited a Christmas check into savings- suddenly anxious and pulling at my hair on the bedroom floor-forced myself back up.
-Started my clothing laundry.
-Turned the clock off on my laptop toolbar.
-Tried eating a pre-done turkey sandwich and ended spitting half of it out because the textures were nasty. Opened student Christmas cards while I ate/didn't eat. Appreciated the plain little one that was obviously written by the student and had no gift card the most. The gift cards somehow just make me feel bad.
-Smell of M's french toast makes me nauseous.
-Distracted by the appearance of the broken/regrowing hairs sticking out of my head in the darkness of the computer screen.
-I put my hair back so I'd stop pulling at it, shut the blinds, ate a small chocolate to cancel out the bad sandwich taste, made tea, grabbed a bottle of seltzer water, and set a timer for 40 minutes of lesson planning.
-Immediately got distracted by the laundry needing to be moved. Threw my clothes in the dryer and threw my bedding into the wash.
-Kept on resetting the timer to give myself more time. Starting is agonizing, but working is very fulfilling and peaceful. Managed to complete the lesson slides for the neurographic art unit I need for 2nd and 3rd grade. It's already past 4pm and I need to stop and get outside to exercise and get sun before it gets too dark. Worried that if I stop now, I will not be able to continue working later- either because of myself or someone else in the house, but it's a risk I've unfortunately got to take. I will work on finishing the finished and in progress exemplars for the unit when I get back from my run.
-Got distracted momentarily by art and memes on Pinterest.
-Went for a run
-Came back and mom was eating chips in the kitchen. I made myself a white Russian and explained to her my neurographic art lesson while I made the lines for my 2 exemplars. She said that there's no way this lesson would go well. I finished the line art and made myself another drink before taking a shower.
-almost 8 and the 2nd drink is making me feel ill. Mom is sitting next to me with her Christmas scrap book and she's on her 2nd or 3rd drink and she's a lot less critical of my lesson. E and a friend(s?) and M are outside at the firepit. C finally woke up and he's talking about actually going in to work again instead of taking a night off. Just finished coloring the finished version.
-We had dinner. I had leftovers instead of the freshly cooked food as I usually do, because no one else is willing to do it. Mom is doing dishes. Dad is sprawled on couch watching Netflix. Mom asks about my work and I tell her that I don't trust myself to do good work past 8:30pm at night. She doesn't understand.
-Dad's Netflix involves a woman constantly screaming in distress. The emotions of the woman are getting to me, even if I can't see the screen as I write this. I need to get away- somehow. The TV blasts through all the thin walls of the house, but I've got to escape somehow.
Summary of last night:
-Went upstairs and tried to lose myself in Key and Peele skits.
-E2 gave me the option of going to her lake house or staying in town for New Year's. I chose the stay in town option because I have lesson plans and grading to do and she told me we'd meet for dinner and then she would drive alone to her lake house. That was weird, because I thought she meant we would stay in town together at midnight, but okay. I told my mom when she came into my room and she said I was at fault- I should have never chosen the second option E2 gave me and by letting E2 have New Year's without a friend, I was being a bad friend. I was exasperated, because it was E2's idea to offer the option and come up with the driving alone plan herself, not me. Why the heck would I back out now when this she had voluntarily brought this upon herself?
-I tried to drown myself in more skits and missed my chance to do PT AGAIN because I was too tired and it was way too late at night to start. I went to bed with a blue-light induced headache, frustrated at the time I had wasted, angry at E2 and my mom and myself, and anxious that it was very true- that I was a bad friend. A bad person. My heart was pounding so hard it took a while to go to bed.
THIS MORNING:
-Woke up exhausted and slept in for 30 minutes- still exhausted.
-Finally texted M2 back after several days.
-Finally texted a thank you to one of my relatives for a Christmas gift card.
-Figured I would buy everyone else presents with these cards I have so I searched online: E will get a cat-shaped mug warmer, M will get a Bleach phone case, C will get a yooperlite crow sculpture with a black light, and my dad will get a sophisticated looking barometer set, and E3 (who hasn't texted me for weeks now- don't blame her, because I'm such a freak. Why would anyone want a friend who ignores your simple happiness of buying gifts for your other friends and then has a mental breakdown at a shopping center about some dumb existential terror that forces the hangout to end early? I'm an embarrassment dressed up like a philosopher.) will get a gift card to a massage place for her hips and legs.
-Came downstairs, had toast and coffee. Dad just went out for his run. I typed this out and now I am going to type up what I wrote yesterday and probably do a ton of tweaking before I write the new material for today. Then, I've got to come up with extra activities for K and 1st and maybe do slides for the next units and then maybe do the grading for the middle school portraits and then maybe do the next slides for middle school, but I also need to clean my room and put my clothes away and exercise and do my PT exercises and buy the gifts and text my other relative a thank you for his gift card all before I go out to dinner with E2. I can already feel my anxiety levels rising just thinking about it all so I'm just going to do my best to dive in now.
-I finished typing up yesterday's writing. I edited out a big chunk that wasn't necessary. I wrote the rest of the scene on paper.
-I'm going over the K and 1st lesson plan for tomorrow and I have to polish the slides and refine the instructions and come up with extra activities related to either this art project or the next and it's 10:30am and the anxiety is freezing me up. What if I finish everything early? What if I finish everything early today and still only hang out with E2 at dinner and abandon her on New Year's for no good reason other than I am a bad and selfish friend and stupid because I will be all alone on New Year's too?
-Realized I didn't need slides for K and 1st, I could do it all through demonstrations on the hand projector. I came up with extra activities and both of them require extra work out of me: need to print coloring pages, buy beads and pipe cleaners- and I need to buy cotton balls for the 4th and 5th grade projects too.
-I finished up with what I need for K and 1st this week, so I tried to move on to grading the middle school portraits, but...I couldn't. I felt too exposed at the kitchen table and then still too exposed off in the dining room so I put everything away again in my room and rocked on the edge of my bed while pulling my hair and I was stuck doing that there until my mom loudly announced she was leaving and went out of the house.
-I fantasized E3 reaching out to me for New Year's and we'd stay up like old times at her house- dry ice magic and ordering out and funny celebration glasses and music and drawing and there's no way that would happen because I've ruined everything. I'm alone and it's all my fault.
-I'm writing this at the kitchen table. Dad sat down next to me and is doing the voice-to-text thing that I despise. I will go for a run to stay productive.
-Came back and caught my reflection in the black screen of computer. I hate being a human. Drinking a canned mocktail because I need the sugar.
-Browsed generic productivity and mental health advice that *** me off on Pinterest because I didn't know what else to do with myself and I ended up almost crying over a Tumblr post about how you can't just live off fantasies and you have to engage with reality to really live your life.
-Feel slightly better now that I've used up all the Amazon gift money on gifts for E and dad and bought a gift for C on Etsy and now I'm waiting on M to respond to the phone design I sent him and I just gave myself even more work because I need to buy a black light for C's yooperlite. And E2 texted me. I don't want to answer. I'm taking a shower.
-It's time to go to get sushi with E2...at 4pm. I'm VERY not hungry. Why the heck are we having dinner at 4pm instead of just hanging at her house, especially since her family bailed on the lake house and everyone is going to be at her house now?? We're just going to be sitting there, staring at each other with dumb conversations without the benefit of a TV or ping pong game to distract us and make it any less painful and boring. I went through 2 folders of student work before I caved and needed a funny video break- I only analyzed 2 folders in the span of like 2 hours. WTF. I still have loads more folders to go. This is ridiculous. And my stomach hurts. Grandma did call and interrupt the work for 10 minutes to thank me for the artwork I sent her, but still.
-Went to sushi place. Got tea and edamame because I wasn't really hungry. Talked to E2 for about 2 hours- it wasn't the most engaging thing and there were lots of (at least for me) painfully awkward silences, but I already know she's better to hang out with when we have an activity.
-I went to her house afterward (because I can't say no) and we watched White Chicks, drank wine and ate chocolate, played pool, watched the Great British Bake-Off. It was only when instead of getting up to play another game, she instead switched to New Year's recap programming that I thought about going home, but you can't just abandon your friend at 10pm on New Year's. I was bored and we said less and less to each other as midnight approached. She facetimed her boyfriend. She wanted me to not night drive, but I left.
-Came back to E having his friends over watching TV. Made myself a turkey sandwich for a 1am dinner.
-C showed me a prose piece he'd been writing that was an abstract evocation of a Lovecraftian creature dangling its tentacles over the earth.
-Went to bed around 2pm.
-Woke up feeling tired at 9:00. Managing to get out of bed by 9:30 and I came down to find that the cat had climbed the pantry and ripped into the treats I had recently re-bagged for the 3rd time and he was gorging himself so I chucked the treats in the garbage.
-I made a giant half-burnt protein pancake and reheated coffee. Now it's off to the races again with the typing and the writing and the grading and the shopping and the exercise and the struggling to text people back so that by the end of the day, I can go to bed unsatisfied and uneasy, wake up with a headache and go to school where I wave to children and freak out, trying to prep everything in time and hold everything together. And then I get to do all that a second time. And then Saturday will roll around and I will type and write and do school work and exercise and probably struggle to text people back. Sunday is a repeat of Saturday. Monday is a repeat of Thursday and Friday. I only have 2 days in my life, 2 schedules. There is nothing else. What am I supposed to say about that? Oh, well.
-It's somehow already 10:45 and I haven't done anything. I was staring out the window, combing my fingers through my hair, listening to the wind, and reading through Reddit notifications that I don't care about on my email. I feel brain dead. I'm going to reheat the coffee I forgot about. What a time to be alive.
-I found out last night that E3 had texted E2 that she was sick. I guess I've been spam texting E3 when she was sick- of course. Why would anyone want to deal with me when they are already physically ill? I was only adding to her problems. Look at me, going off like adult-child about 'I don't understand your interest in these things tbh, but I would love doing this and this and this instead' after being a complete freak having a breakdown over nothing the last time we hung out. Like, no one deserves to deal with that. I know she's been going through *** and she was just trying to have some fun and I go and ruin it and then try to assert my needs over hers like some tantrum-throwing child pretending to be deep. All of these stupid texts from me while she already isn't feeling well. God, I'm repulsive. I obsessively cling to E3 and idealize her past self while hating her present self and I purposefully neglect E2 for no justifiable reason other than the fact that I have unfairly judged her as 'boring'. I'm gross. I go through the motions of a good person and a good friend, but I'm really gross. I've basically foresaken the relationships I have with 2 out of 3 brothers because they 'weren't good enough for me'. I judge my parents equally harshly. I bring all this isolation upon myself. And then I will throw art and gifts at people because that is what I am supposed to do. Fulfill the character role. Make myself feel purposeful. I like to pretend that there is something going on inside me, but I'm not sure. M2 and E3 expressed that there is always a storm racing and raging inside them so they need to relax to account for that constant energy, but inside me there is a vast hollow that just sits echoing and dark. If I dare to stand still, I will become that hollow. I will become nothing. And that's not something I would like to become.
-Lol just my average morning thoughts. Time to go back to typing.
-Nvm. In an ideal world, my friend group would look like this: the adventurous one (rebellious, bubbly, energetic). The intellectual (philosophical, nuanced, hot-takes). The sage-mom (philanthropist, soothing conversationalist, the 'glue of the group'). I should just write myself into a bunch of adventures with my imaginary friends for some wish fulfillment.
-C came down to eat sandwich. It is now 11:30. He talked to me, but I am so tired that I can't remember what it was.
-Adventure will have short light colored hair, be athletic, and she will be short and usually wearing something bright and a little boyish. Intellectual will wear glasses, have long dark hair, be lanky, and she will be wearing something dark and slightly androgynous. Sage-mom will be about as tall as Intellectual, but her lanky is a little softer, and have blue eyes, dark blond hair, and hippie-like clothing.
-We would meet at a cafe in the morning to sketch and hang out without any further plans. Adventure is drawing graphic designs for tattoos, clothing, and graffiti on a tablet. Intellectual is designing an alphabet for a new language in a composition notebook and also trying to draw abstract art to represent ideas. Sage-mom is watercolor painting flowers and browsing through her recent photography. I'm drawing unwitting cafe patrons in colored pencil and people and people and more people. Conversation somehow lands on a hiking spot with haunted ruins, so we all pack up and climb into Sage-mom's car. The ruins are cool and the hike is long and we all go home with a few take-aways: Intellectual and me are competing to decode the graffiti, Adventure is so down to scale that cliff we saw in the distance (and so am I), Sage-mom invited the group to an upcoming art festival.
-Other adventures include: getting drunk and philosophical at a bar with Intellectual, Adventure and me somehow ending up at the cryptologic museum and spamming Intellectual with photos of ancient texts, Sage-mom and me enjoying an afternoon poking around galleries and talking with the artists there, Adventure and Sage-mom and me finding a hidden hiking path together, everyone attending a cultural festival in the city, me and Intellectual watching a movie and then picking it to bits, me and Adventure going skinny dipping in a lake, holiday ice skating with Sage-mom.
-It is almost 1pm. I've been sitting here for hours and I still haven't finished typing up my writing from yesterday. All three of my brothers are up. My parents called and they will be here in a half an hour. I am so screwed.
-It's basically been 3 hours and I've only now finished typing. I had only written a page and a half yesterday. The day is ripping past me at brutal speeds and I'm just doomed basically.
Things I want to do with people in 2025: art and cultural festivals, museums, aquariums, zoos, parks, hikes, ice skating, roller blading, indoor rock climbing, jogging, tennis, designing buttons, art collaboration, story collaboration, color run, wander graveyards, sketching at cafes, making rainbow-colored food, paint nails, braid hair, Ouija board, watch horror movies, watch anime, design T-shirts and mugs, make DIY fortune cookies, go to a sauna, planetarium, go see a theater show, wear disguises and go explore a new city, cook an entire meal over a fire, go camping in the backyard, stay quiet and listen to the entirety of the death consciousness album, write invisible ink letters and send them off, dance in the rain, leave mysterious messages on a hiking trail in the dirt, volunteer together.
-I don't know what I'm doing. I guess I'll get up and try to get some exercise instead of sitting here doing basically nothing for hours on end. My brothers came into the kitchen reeking of weed.
-I came back from my run and discovered that my parents had come home and E's friend was there too. I retreated to my room, grabbed a book, sat on the floor, and blanked out staring at a hall, carefully turning all my thoughts into a narrative like I had an audience. I showered, made a tuna sandwich, and then tried to figure out where I could buy all my supplies I needed for the lessons tomorrow and Friday.
-M2 called with an existential crisis and felt alive for the first time that day talking about nihilism, the beauty of the cycle of life and the universe and science, existentialism, ghosts and the afterlife and religion, and absurdism. The call was under 10 minutes, but I no longer felt like I hated myself and everyone around me as much. I sent her some a link to a philosophy article and then headed out.
-I bought most of what I needed with gift cards and the only real thing I needed to pay for was a new conditioner I wanted to try.
-Drove home enjoying my music.
-I mixed myself a drink, grabbed the takeout on the counter, and then hurried downstairs when my parents put on the news. I came up about an hour later after brainlessly watching YouTube and they are watching a dumb action movie now. Their movie is annoying me and I can't think straight, but there is no place in the house to go to escape the noise expect for their closet. I guess I will go hangout in their closet and daydream all the things I could do in 2025.
