[incomplete]

Written on December 19, 2012.

It's six in the a.m. and only hours before I board a flight westbound, but I am in a contemplative mood and running on coffee. For some reason my body (and mind) is under the misconception that humans sleep every 30 hours or so. My days blur into each other, and time feels longer in spite of the winter that casts everything into darkness all day anyway. I am tired, very, very tired and my words creep slowly onto the page, but my mind is a bit of a whirlpool.

First things first, I didn't do as well this semester as I would have liked to. "It's okay," a little voice in my head attempts to console me, but then there is this maddening scream that tells me that I am an idiot and that this is far, far from the best I can spew out. And I'm afraid that the demon under my bed, that keeps telling me that I didn't do all I could, is right. I didn't. What I feel worst about is letting people down. This one professor, who didn't know if Youtube was spelled with a "you", is one of the most awesome people I have ever met, and in return for an awesome semester I made a B-. Here Dr. W, this is how much fuck I give. I don't even know how I'm going to face her now.

Then there is the whole big deal about moving on, growing up, aiming high. Life, at times, feels like a series of random leaps of faith. Though I am convinced, most of the time at least, that this road less traveled I have chosen for my life is the right one, and that I will most likely get a share of good things for the hard work I put in, I can't help but feel jealousy. Jealous of freshmen, of housewives, whose lives seem so predictable, so easy to navigate, to live.

A friend told me today that I should not be afraid to love. It will hurt she said, but worth it. As much as I would like to believe her, I am not convinced.

The End That Never Came

It only seemed right that I traveled to the end of the world in anticipation of Doomsday. There I was, at the feet of the mighty Pacific Ocean waiting patiently for the world to burn. But alas, December the twenty-first came and went, uneventfully.

I am terribly sleepy right now. I haven't written in so very long, so I will try to keep my eyes open and spill out words as they come. My posts have been terrible, terrible, terrible lately. Mostly just nonsensical rants that I think killed my fan club of three readers. So here is my attempt at reconciliation.

Among the dozens of hilarious Armageddon memes on my Facebook news-feed on Friday were one or two philosophical, contemplative posts by people who were asking themselves the wrong questions at the wrong time. Hours before the end of the world is definitely the worst time to be thinking about life's should-have's and could-have's. That's when you want to be running around getting your last rations into the cellar and polishing up that shotgun. I even got myself a haircut the week before, just in case. These people, they had it all wrong, sitting in front of their computers wondering about the purpose of life and such.

But in all honesty, their words made me think. If the world had really ended on Friday, what would have been my last thoughts? Would I have died happily? I am thousands of miles away from my family and that sure would have been upsetting. But other than that?

One thing I've really regretted over the last few weeks is growing up. I have learned to play it safe, to be nice and law-abiding. I honestly hate being "nice", but the learning has sunk in so deep the pretense comes automatically. To smile at the right time, to say the right things- it's all so natural. The person I became to please those around me grew so real that even I couldn't tell her apart anymore, and she merged with the real me into something unrecognizable and sad and disgusting.

I want to tap back into the person I used to be. I scare myself sometimes, but that I think is where you find true beauty, when you really push your physical and mental limits.
My most memorable moments in life never came from sitting around being good. Last week I pushed myself to do something unspeakable, even unthinkable, and minutes before I was sitting on my bed shaking and shuddering from head to toe. I was afraid, very very afraid. I won't say it ended being one of the most memorable moments of my life (think plain tea and cigarettes), but feeling that fear, that soul shattering fear was absolutely revitalizing. Knowing that you were alive enough to lose something reminds you that it is all worth it. And that is what I miss about growing up, that euphoria, the blood-rush of facing your own madness.

I thought about it recently. If the sixteen-year-old me met the the twenty-some-old me they would hate each other. Each one would think the other a loser. The elder one would feel pity and the younger one anger and revulsion. If that is not a devastating personal conundrum, I don't know what is. I want the best of both worlds. I want, I want...

I think I wrote about how I think I may have been in love? It was real, it happened, it came and went like a crashing wave. Other than being a dizzying experience of oscillating between bliss, confusion, and anger, "falling in love" also reminded me that I am still alive, still capable of feeling.

That's it. I'm sleepy.