{R.13} Inertia

I don’t know what it is lately, but I feel like I’m running down a hill with my feet catching up under me, and I can’t stop and if I try I’ll fall down and the hill only gets steeper with no end in sight and I’m terrified and tired

but I feel like I’m flying.

It is odd, certainly.

The last few weeks and certainly now feel this way. Like Inertia is the only thing keeping me going. I’m certainly running myself through a loop in terms of sleep. If you ask me at noon whether or not I will sleep at night I can’t give you an answer anymore. I might be asleep in two hours, or I might be asleep in twelve, and conscious at varying times as well.

There’s been a lot to do, and I can’t feel as though I’ve completed anything anymore because as soon as one thing is done there’s so much more to do.

And the reading. So much reading.

I’ve been writing a lot more lately, but I think it’s more that I need some kind of creative outlet so that I don’t implode. I need to do something for myself. Just a little something like writing. The ideas are coming so fluidly lately that I’m surprised. I haven’t had writer’s block for a few months now and although I’m hesitant to say that I enjoy writing papers, I certainly only dread the structure of them anymore. Content wise, I’m having a blast.

I know I thought I wasn’t going to come home as much this semester, but it feels as though I’m coming home more and more. It may be because of Cricket, or maybe legitimate events and occasions at home. Not even sure anymore.

And I love that moment where you remember you have something else to do that you’ve forgotten and sigh, feeling like the work will never end.

And yet I’m scouring the newspaper and Monster in search of jobs, and trying to up my hours at the two jobs I already have, even planning on coming back early from my trip home this weekend so I can work strike for the most recent play.

I need a brake.

I fly to London in nine days. I’m absolutely terrified. I don’t know what to do. I’m freaking out no matter how calm I may appear, and I’m still convinced the plane is going to fall out of the sky simply because I’m on it. I’m totally taking my stuffed cat with me. Judge me all you want. I don’t care.

I try to be a good person, whatever a good person means. To me it’s following my own moral code and seeking to make others happy, make them smile, make them laugh. But it feels like that’s only bringing me down more and more lately. Not quite taking advantage, but not quite not.. either.

In eight days I can celebrate half a year in quiet joy. Never thought I’d see the day. Never thought I’d feel this way. But I do, and I love it. I absolutely relish it, and Cricket.

Yesterday I slept fourteen hours in periods of six and eight and woke up roughly seven times between the two periods. Today I slept maybe three and a half hours, and if I can help it I won’t be asleep until after I take care of a few things this afternoon, maybe four or five, after dinner.

I miss being able to cook my own food. Probably the only reason I can’t wait for the summer is so that I can cook my own damn food. I like cooking at Cricket’s house. And at my house. I like playing five card draw poker with my grandfather. I can’t wait to go to dinner with my sister.

Where has the time gone?

Just yesterday I was a snappy little kid, angry at everyone but playful as a kitten.

I feel like I’m the same way, but two feet taller, wider, and with these giant mounds of flesh sticking off of my chest. It feels weird to be grown up. I wish people would stop treating me like I’m a child. I get it. I’m young, foolish, and reckless. I may or may not know the world as it is, but I am not in any way, shape, or caustic form stupid. And I cannot stand it when anyone implies such.

I feel like that crazy redhead from the new Pixar movie, Brave. Merida, I think her name is. “I want my freedom.” But then, the mother, “But are you willing to pay the price your freedom will cost!” Yes, yes I am.

"If you had the chance to change your fate, would you?"

That girl is so cute.

And… this is when I huddle under the blanket I stole from Chris and start doing my homework, which in a sense is just a knee-high pile of reading.

I find it funny that Tumblr is my only consistent hobby these days. Imagine that.

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