That awkward moment when you’re only as fly as a G5
…A girl said this in my history class today…
Today it is Tuesday!
Okay maybe it makes my heart warm.
I love the way you lie <3
I hate sounding typical.
I try my best to break through the typical teenage stereotype but the more I try the more it has shown to be a desperate endeavor by the most average of all teenage girls.
I can’t think of a girl I know that hasn’t claimed to be “not just an average girl” at some point. Including myself. Truth is I am terribly typical in the most devastating of ways.
All of this to say that the topic of this free writing exercise to me has come as somewhat of a shocking challenge. Usually words flow through my fingers like that of a profusely bleeding wound - accidentally, uncontrollably, and messily. That’s usually the truest of all writing. I am no small measure of ashamed for what I am about to write about. I am also ashamed of the fact I just reference this paper, and by doing this I have broken a cardinal rule for writing that I set for myself years ago. It’s clear now that I am stalling. Mr. Beaver probably won’t read this anyway. And if he does he probably just chuckled to himself about how he’s somehow beaten me in surpassing my expectations for him. And he isn’t going to make note of it now because that would mean that he was predicted and not so witty and clever after all. Now he just thinks I’m sassy and rude.
On to the point.
I really just like this guy.
It’s all that is on my mind. I tried and tried to avoid writing about this with all the power invested in my 16 year old body. But it has consumed my soul and every bit of free space in my soul. I feel like I’m five. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve genuinely had feelings for a guy, not guilt feelings because he likes me and that means we’re supposed to be together, but genuine admiration for the soul of another person? An addiction to someone else’s brain chemistry? It’s been a long time, Mr. Beaver. Almost a year since I could say I even liked someone a little. This is long awaited. And I feel like a child.
The problem with this is that it is really confusing the heck out of me. I mean, I’m 16, I’m full of angst, I have all the answers right? Okay well I know I don’t. That was a joke. Don’t teach a class about this. But seriously. Am I not supposed to use my past heartache for wisdom? Is that not the method behind it? To live and learn? Or am I too young to learn? Is there an age requirement to wisdom? A magical number that I become in which I gain the respect of someone who has matured? Or is the fact that I am totally overthinking this just a sign of my immaturity?
I don’t know what I’m saying. Blame it on the hormones or the fact that I don’t remember how to go to sleep before 2 and wake up before 12. Pass the blame wherever you want but the point is that this boy is stressing me out. I mean, he’s wonderful. He just consumes my every conscious and unconscious thought. So much so that even a tiny bit of school sets me over the edge.
During fifth period (I like to get my deep thinking done during chemistry) it hit me. I am making grades for college. I am learning now for the rest of my life. After next year I will never be in high school again. I better as heck get to living and get to doing my schoolwork done. It’s not about boys. This is about my future. I need to get rid of all of my distractions. Or at least make them take a number.
As I was being a jerk to that poor boy afterschool, with thoughts of all the work I had waiting for me at hope pushing their way through my brain, a song crept on to the mix CD playing softly in my 2005 Chevy Avalanche.
breathe, just breathe
take the world off your shoulders
and put it on me
What even. Why am I trying to figure all this out. Why am I trying to balance Hayes and school and family and friends on my own. Why am I trying to make a name of myself, most importantly? Because when I try to plan things, and when I try to figure things out, I am wrong. I am utterly wrong. And I couldn’t be wronger. (I know that isn’t a word, I’m making a statement.) This is not in my hands because all I’m going to do is screw it up.
And that is what is on my heart.