I don’t want to go to work tomorrow. I don’t want to go back to the places where I’m a minority because of my faith.
That’s part of it, this weird feeling — I don’t really have friends in Houston. Outside of my housemates, I’m flying solo, and it’s horrible. There are no coffee dates or midnight study parties or adventures. There are no shopping trips or uncontrollable laughing fits or movie nights.
I miss that. I miss home. And then I feel bad for missing home, because I wanted so badly to come here. And I love it, I do. I really don’t hate it as much as it seems; I was just expecting something very different. I wasn’t expecting to be stuck between the apartment and my classes and the CBB. I was expecting to explore, to be brave, to have fun.
And I’m not.
I guess that’s not out of my control, though. If only I could find the time.
I feel like an anomaly sometimes,
and then I ask myself, “how egocentric must you be to think you’re anything special, anything outside the extremely broad scope of ‘normal’?”
It’s just that I operate in extremes. I’m all or nothing, and right now I’m nothing. It isn’t even the music tonight, although I am listening to what usually puts me in a somber mood.
Usually I’m running on 1,000%. Usually people have to tell me to bring it down a notch, that I’m too much. That they can’t handle me, that my personality is too big, that I need to cram myself into the box they’ve so thoughtfully brought along. Look, it’s just my size!
They don’t say it, not out loud. But it’s implied, I feel like. They look at me and see someone just a little too far outside the range of unique that’s acceptable.
But then I use up all of that energy; it happens when I’ve been alone too long, or I haven’t written in weeks, when the piano has gone untouched, or I’ve been sleeping badly because shitty life experiences come back to haunt you at the worst times.
Right now, I feel disconnected. It’s like my brain is full of cotton. Like my body is being moved by puppet strings. Like I’m reading off a script. There’s nothing organize or spontaneous or creative about me right now.
I know it’s stress. It’s the knots in my stomach tying themselves over financial aid and finals coming up and finances. Over relationships and exhaustion and the pain in my chest that won’t go away any time I start to think about anything past this weekend.
Maybe it’s the weather, too. Maybe it’s the remembering.
It’s been a rough two years, ladies and gents.
I don’t have anything pretty or meaningful tonight, guys. That’s it. I told myself that I’d get better at posting regularly, even if it meant posting random musings and incomplete thoughts.
Well, it’s been a week, so here are some musings and incomplete thoughts.