If it’s a broken heart, then face it. Hold your own, know your name, and go your own way.
Is fighting temptation worth the struggle? Or is it better to succumb to your wants, and leave tomorrow for tomorrow?
One is obviously more morally correct, but which one is truly more satisfying?
(I guess they both are, one is just slowly satisfying while the other is immediate.)
Temptation comes along with having the psyche of a human being. Where there are moral standards, be them conscious or unconscious, there will be a point at which the line is crossed. We all cross this line at least once, because if we do not, we will never discover where the line is. Sometimes it takes a few cross-ings to figure it out. Some never find it all, don’t need to, don’t want to, whatever.
I am in the midst of this. My strings are being pulled, and it’s fucking my lines up.
It’s up to me and him to figure out what to do, but the vocalizing of the situation proves difficult. I know what I want, and it’s most definitely not up to moral standards. I also am aware that in the end what I want will fuck me up. Unfortunately, I am completely comfortable in a fucked up state, making the line even more blurry.
This is a reoccurring problem for me, and I think it is for a lot of people. You know, the whole “Wants Vs. Needs” thing. I make myself the excuse that since I am a teen, I have a right to experiment, even when the results will be obvious. It’s all part of the rebellion stage where I want to discover the consequences from myself and then learn from it, right? HAH, right. Or perhaps, the simple, I CANNOT CONTROL MY HORMONES. Yes. No.
I know what I should do. But it’s not what I want to do.
But I want to do it anyways, and probably will if the chance occurs.
Who knew this day would come so fast?
Today I am leaving for California.
I will be gone for Katie’s birthday.
I will be gone for Paige’s college leave,
meaning today was my last goodbye to her.
Over the past few months I’ve developed a very very close relationship to her. Closer to most people that I ever get. She is one of my best friends; I can confide in her and trust that she won’t mention anything to anyone. I can take her on adventures, I can rant with her, I can show up to her house without warning, and I have done so nearly every day that I have been home this summer. Even as I watched the car pull away from my driveway this morning, I could feel a tug. A gap has already begun to form.
My eyes are welling up now as I attempt to type this.
Her absence will be similar to the feeling of a missing limb.
I suppose now I can look forward to the road trip and visit that I will be forcing upon Carol at the end of the month (Although it probably wouldn’t really be considered forcing being that she is willing and wants to go) and keep in touch as much as possible.
So now, my mission is to make the trip to California worth it.
It sure as hell better be.
Being an attention whore is tough work indeed.
The end of May always feels like summer.
The beginning of June feels even more like summer.
I have found this last month to be painstaking. Freedom is right beyond my fingertips, and it becomes increasingly awful to go through the same routine each day.
Finals have me in a frenzy,
My sleeping pattern is fucked up,
& petty relationship drama is puttin’ me down.
So, what am I doing to make up for it all?
I am making a note of being unconditionally ridiculous in whatever spare time I encounter.
I am taking advantage of the weather by slathering myself in ungodly amounts of sunblock,
wandering out in my backyard with a giant towel decorated (very subtly) with a giant orange tiger, lying down and then after what feels like hours, retreating back into the abode after five minutes.
I gather my friends together and galavant about with them to nowhere in particular at odd hours of the night, singing songs and unintentionally terrifying the neighborhood by creating monstrous shadows and crashing bikes into bushes.
I pick up objects whenever the urge arises, and drop things wherever I feel the need to.
I yell and scream and sing and dance, while simultaneously telling a story and fixing my hair.
All the while, I still know, subconciously, that my behavior is anxiety driven. It is driven by the fact that I want to be rid of the anxiety, and am trying my own home-concocted methods of kicking it. In the moment it seems to do the trick, but then, after my adrenaline rush diminishes, there is nothing left but a spaced out shell of Ali.
This post-rush version of myself generally confuses most people. I mean, not me specifically, just the fact that I went from WAY up, to WAY down. I will try meditating before social situations to avoid becoming a snail. In some ways, I don’t want to change. But, for the people I loves’ sake, I’ll at least try.
ALSO: Today I had my bio final, and a physical.
BIO FINAL: I am guessing 75%.
PHYSICAL: Fuck “pap smears”. They could at least call it something less gruesome.
ALSO ALSO:
I am getting my hair cut short. For sure. Do not let me talk myself out of this.
