inreaction

i have a pretty rough headache so i thought there could be nothing better for it than to sit and stare at a screen for a bit.

i’m reading a memoir called jubilee city by joe andoe. i’m not sure if it has come out yet, i received it in advance as a part of press kit that was sent to me for an interview. normally i disregard or give these materials to family members [secretly, of course], but i read this one. it’s quite good.

i’ve come to think that i am uninspired in many aspects. even those that used to spark something in me are now but dulled, incidental impulses. it’s a bit as though those sparklers kids hold and look at with wonder and fear all of a sudden become smoldering cigarette butts.

and i know the problem isn’t with them–the world is just as amazing, just as bright in some sunny spots, just as dark in those which cover themselves or are cast in the shadows of others. there’s something constant about the world’s variance. no, it’s not the world.

it’s not entirely me either. it’s a part of me that still feels tired–the part that wakes up tired and sleeps hoping headaches will fade. i can’t be that sick, there isn’t anything wrong.

in just over two hours i will be just 10 days from my nineteenth year.

it’s a bit as though those sparklers kids hold and look at with wonder and fear all of a sudden become smoldering cigarette butts.

i haven’t been worried in awhile.

sure, i’ve been pushed. stressed. pressed for time until there was no more to push for. but outside of the stresses of my grandfather, mother, and family’s health, i’ve been lucky enough the my stresses have existed inside a vacuum of my own chaos.

thus i have been able to isolate my fears and dismantle them one by one, effectively segmenting my dilemmas and sorting through time management exercises and somehow twisting my time into a sick imitation of a life filled not with friends [even those who sleep a mere 10 feet from my bed] or family [though their voicemails compile in my phone's memory like reminders of a failing trend] or class [pages of reading pile on heavier than all things, but somehow weigh me down far less than they should, far less than the reminders of time lost with loved ones] or even a real chance at honest conversation with the one i love.

and still i am blessed with the support of many. each time i name names in my writings or next to them some issue arises so i will abstain but know this: i am infinitely thankful for the friends who support me without judging my quarter long absence as a sign of my apathy or forgetfulness.

i have a lot to think about and little time to think of it. i suppose this is the point where we get past our pride and admit that we need others. i can’t wait until i can sleep in without dreading the call of an alarm. i can’t wait until i can spend time with friends without feeling guilty that i am neglecting something else. i can’t wait until someone who means the world to me is less exhausted, and until i am the same and thus enabled to make her smile again.

i miss being able to talk to people about things that matter. i miss the words spoken when the mind thought not of the conversation, nor of time, but of friendship and comfort.