My hair is red.
I have glitter makeup.
DinnerDance is on Saturday.
These things make me happy :-)
I have four weeks left of classes, one week left of finals.
I still don't have an appartment.
My resume is nowhere near ready.
These things make me nervous as all fuck :-/
I really should be sleeping, but I can't do it. I close my eyes and my mind is flooded with worries. My eyes flash open and I gasp, struggling for breath.
I am not prepared.
I have been realizing that I live in my own little world, run by rules that I have created. I have writen it out like I would any story. Now the words stuck at the tips of my fingers, not wanting to come out, not wanting to be writen down. This is no longer the world I created, it has been ripped out of my hands. Someone else is in control. My fingers itch and pulse with words building up behind the skin like maggots in rotting flesh. I wonder if they will simply eat away at my hands.
Behind my eyes I see people dressed in "office casual". Skirts and blazers and white button shirts and ties and pumps and nylons and clothes that I have never seen in my wardrobe. Clothes that I have never seen on me. Clothes that I don't want to wear. They all look professional, they all look older, more mature. They seem 10 feet tall and I'm somewhere around their kneecaps, clinging to the hem of a skirt, hiding behind the grown up's knees. I'm back at kindergarden, it's the first day of school. Only I don't know what I'm doing.
I don't want this! I don't want to be an adult! I don't want to worry about checks and bills and rent and insurance. All I want is to be able to sit someplace and write. I want someone else to do all the worrying for me. Nobody taught me how to do these things. Nobody sat me down and said "this is what you have to do in the real world." It's like they all assumed I knew what I was doing.
There's so much I don't know.
Sometimes I tell myself that this is a dream. When I wake up, it'll be sophmore year, I'll have two more years to worry about it, and maybe I'll actually do something then, instead of waitng for the last minute. I'm at the bottom of the pool and running out of air fast. My lungs are crushing in my chest, my eyes are burning. Somebody throw me a line, any line. And I hope you know CPR.
It's not the move that frightens me. It's not leaving that's making me cry. But it's the thought that people like my parents and family say they are so proud of me for being so grown up when in all reality I'm not. They tell me I've learned so much, but I hanv't, I don't know how to survive. So many people think I do, and how do I tell them that I don't?
Patty was laughing at Gina because Gina is so worried about being independant. Patty was gloating about how she's always been independant. She's telling this to me like I will understand, and also laugh at Gina. I sit and squirm with an uncomfortable smirk on my face. I am Gina. I don't know what to do.
I am afraid that I will go out into this world and find a job and work and be like a man in a gray flannle suit. My writing will not happen. I will put it away in a box and put in the closet with all my other half finished projects. It will collect dust and one day I'll find it again, look at it, remember what I wanted to do, then put back again, just another hobby that I let slide. Just another pipe dream that I couldn't let come true. I can't let that happen.
I know everybody is worried when they graduate, when they set out on their own. I know I'm not special (perhaps that's also part of my issue). But right now I am afraid to go to sleep. My thoughts will drown me and I won't wake up. Five weeks is not enough time. I should have realized that sooner.
Who wants to run away with me?