Quelqu'un qui m'a dit.

An original

“Mother”

I sat cross-legged on the hardwood floor, straining my head to cooperate with the tilt of my mirror and the mascara wand on my lashes as my legs shifted over one another, again and again, determined to find a comfy groove in the wood. She says carpet floors make a house seem cheap and a family look poor.

Suddenly, I heard that escaping of air accompanied by the creaking of bolts as my door opened behind me. She came in, arms crossed in her pristine white cardigan, the thick phone still gripped in one hand. We don’t even have caller I.D. on that old phone. She says caller I.D. is ridiculous, like cell phones and unmade beds. Her lips remained closed, drawing the wrinkles around her mouth into their perpetual frown, and she leaned against the post of my bed.

I remember asking for a more modern bed one year. She’d just looked at me for a long time, lips pursed, eyebrows raised, as if I knew exactly what she wanted to say but didn’t bother to. She says that people are impractical these days, that antiques like my bed are a sign of diligence and conservation.

Knowing full well she was watching my every move in the the mirror, I turned to face her. She didn’t clear her throat, but instead took in a breath, her mouth open wide in a purposeful donut shape.
“Ann called me again today,” she exhaled, arms still crossed over her chest, and paused.

My eyes were level with her torso, so I lifted them to her face, finding the frown lines pulling at her mouth even more. She says people who constantly make eye contact are pretentious, even snooty, and definitely self-indulgent. I learned this the time I had watched her scream about Father’s credit card debt as she threw beanie babies and Kindergarten graduation pictures around my room. I had kept my eyes on hers the entire time. Her slap left the imprint of her wedding ring.

She didn’t turn to see if I was looking at her, she knew I was, and so she continued.
“I mean, I’m a very patient person – I deal with this family without going crazy – but Ann literally drives me up walls. I tried to talk to her about that wedding next week, and as usual, she says something like,
‘I’m going. It’s what Mom and Dad would want from us, and no one else is going to do it, so I will.’ Like she’s so high and mighty or something. Of course, I only tried to be kind with her, you know how I am, I just deal with people all of the time and know how to be courteous.” At this she turned to make sure I knew to agree with her. Satisfied that my face was turned toward her with some sort of sincerity, she continued,
“So I said ‘Now Ann, I don’t mean to be judgmental,’ because you know, I don’t,” and she looked at me, but didn’t want a response,
“‘but aren’t you being a tad self-righteous?”

Invisible pour les yeux

Holy shit. It’s over. My freshman year of college is completely finished, done, complete. Gone. I literally feel like I got here yesterday. And yet I feel like a completely different person than the girl who came here last Fall. Everything that happened last semester and even at the beginning of this semester seemed like it happened years ago, or like it never happened at all. Like it’s all just a bunch of stories and rumors and dreams that were never true to begin with. How odd. So many different emotions and thoughts and not thoughts and non emotions have just jumbled around and around in my skull this entire year. I seriously have gone through so many different states of being. I feel like I can’t connect with and be the person that I was at any other point this year. Every time period encapsulates a different me. Like I molded myself to each and every situation and person and relationship and thought that I encountered. I forgot my grounding so many times this year, especially last semester. Even though that somehow seeped over into this last week, as well. It’s funny how you can try to tell yourself that you don’t feel or think a certain way when you’re not in the situation that makes you feel or think that certain way. But once you’re in that situation again, you can’t help but think or feel that way. There is no telling yourself otherwise. Or maybe that’s just me and I have absolutely no will power and no concept of future consequences. Maybe that’s why my stomach feels tight right now and I’m breathing strangely and wanting to write. I only want to write when things exciting and new and different and unexpected and even wrong happen. Anything out of the norm. Anything out of what makes me comfortable. Anything that takes me outside of myself and fuzzes my brain over, blurring my vision. Those are the moments I had so often back in high school before junior and senior year. SO often. And then they just faded away, and I stopped writing as much. And then they began happening again at the beginning of this year, and then filtered away, and suddenly reappeared this very last week of my existence at this school. How odd that you can tell yourself something was never meant to be, be reassured  for a long period of time that it was never meant to be, and then in a matter of minutes somehow be thrown on your back and realize that it COULD’VE ACTUALLY been. It’s like the brain just recycles feelings and thoughts and desires over and over again in this pattern. You can’t really get out of it until whatever causes those feelings and thoughts and desires LEAVES. Which is what’s happening right now. And it’s causing me to feel this pit in my stomach. Like butterflies that aren’t there anymore, but while they were they took up so much room that their presence can’t be forgotten now. Even if they weren’t noticeable for a long ass period of time. I almost feel like I could maybe cry right now. How sad is that ? Over what? I want to tell myself that this year was so trivial, so uneventful in the span of my life, but maybe it really was. Maybe by the time I’ve packed all my things, gotten on the road, and arrived at the sign welcoming me home, I’ll realize. And the funny thing is, by that time, I won’t be able to take anything back. Or give anything back. It will all be a concrete piece of my past. As certain and solid and forged as writing in stone. Unchangeable and unavoidable. My God. My heart is literally beating now. I don’t even understand. Maybe I really WON’T realize what I’ve had until it’s gone. In two days. Maybe I can just cry now to get it out of the way, to make the realization less real. To blur it and mash it up and grind it into little bitty pieces. So that I don’t have to worry about it. Or at least can pretend not to worry about it.
Then now I feel guilty. And stupid. I shouldn’t be WRITING this shit. Feeling it is one thing. Acting on it is another thing. WRITING about it is as close to another thing as I will allow myself to get. And then dreams. Fuck. That’s how I know. That’s how I always know. I’m going to miss this. I really am. Hopefully next year and another school have something to offer me that will help me get this all off my mind, or even erase it from my mind, or maybe even just obliterate it from my mind due to the influx of so many new memories and thoughts and people and experiences. I think this is what people call wishful thinking. We’ll have to wait and see. Saturday, I’m almost maybe sort of dreading and yet anxiously awaiting you. Get me the fuck out of this ghost town now. It’s just leaving me with empty answers and strange feelings.

realizing freshman year is almost over

lifeisridiculoussometimesiguess:

when you’re right up at the bar about to get a drink and someone behind you tries to order first

mylifeasakitten:

and you just turn around and are like

When I found out that Aladdin and DJ Tanners’ boyfriend were the same person

whatshouldwecallme: