Saturday, December 12, 2009

I had a dream that you were with me

and it wasn't my fault.
You rolled me over, flipped me over like a somersault,
and that doesn't happen to me.


So I'm sitting here on Christmas Eve, with words gnawing at my brain with the kind of panicked excitement that tells me they're important. I'm drowning them out with Blue October (read: Should Be Loved, Jump Rope, and My Never) but somehow they keep coming back.

Pesky little rascals.

If you're reading this, you should know by now that I like a girl named Sarah. Yessir. She hardly knows I exist, save for two IM conversations. And so commences Operation This Will Not Go Well.

There's a fan page on Facebook called "I want to tell you something, but I'm afraid of how you'll react..." and I love it. Not just because the title rings so true, but because on the comments people post their own stories, even if it's just something short like, "I like him but he has a girlfriend," or if there's two paragraphs' worth of an explanation of how this guy's fiance eloped with his cousin to Las Vegas, divorced after two months, and he still wants her back but doesn't want to seem obsessive.

And I think, maybe during the summer after high school, if I have my shit together enough to pack up and leave - no matter where I go, as long as I don't come back - I think I'll write a letter, explaining my entire story. Because I feel like I see things other people don't see, and I can just close my eyes and realize my whole life is simply a book like you'd find on a shelf at Barnes and Noble; everything up until May of seventh grade has been the prologue, and since then I've been writing Part One.

Somehow that reminds me of Stranger Than Fiction, mostly the part toward the end where he risks his life for the sake of the story. I almost don't care anymore what happens as long as it makes a good story. In June 2014 I want to write down something worth reading, and just hope to God it has a good ending. (And that it doesn't sound like something Stephenie Meyer shat out. Just sayin'.)

Right now I'm talking to Kalynn, and she admitted that she loves Cameron. I can honestly say I don't doubt it, and that's not a smartass comment. After she told me that, she said, "It scares me," and I replied, "I know." If there's one thing I value in Kalynn, it's that we can understand everything the other says. Have I mentioned she (now) describes me as "99.9% lesbian, like hand sanitizer"? Yessir.

Funny, that just reminded me of the first time I ever met a gay person (not counting Eric. Sorry Eric). They were Amber and Harley, Laurel's sister's two best friends, and yes, they were a couple. At first I thought Amber was a guy. Obviously, she wasn't, but somehow I walked away from Laurel's house with a newfound love for plaid, digital watches, and baggy jeans. Good times, good times. (Plaiddd<3)

At this point, all the words I've been holding in are now screaming their annoying little asses off and I can't think worth a shit. So later.

2 comments:

  1. I wish I could be like that, but I know that I can't. I have to go to college, and part of me wants to. But part of me also wants to do something incredibly stupid and just enjoy it. Make a worthwhile story.

    Anyways, because of this post, you HAVE to read Paper Towns. You remind me so much of Margo Roth Spiegelman it's unreal. I think you'll love her. Just like Sistine in the Tiger Rising.

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  2. Margot Roth Spiegelman, huh? I guess I will have to read it.

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