I like cute butts.

And fat animals. And sleeping. 

I HATE THIS TOWN AND I HATE THE FUCKING PEOPLE AND NOW THAT EVERYTHING’S ALMOST ENDING I’M JUST ANTICIPATING IT MORE AND I JUST WANT TO GO RUNNING BUT I CAN’T BECAUSE IT’S ELEVEN FUCKING PM AND THE ONLY REASON I WANT TO RUN IS TO ESCAPE. I’M PROCRASTINATING A LOT BUT I’M PROBABLY FOCUSING ON HOW MUCH I CAN’T HANDLE ANYONE HERE AT ALL ANY MORE PROBABLY BECAUSE I CAN’T FUCKING HANDLE MYSELF ANYMORE.

On a more well-mannered note, this place is what I know, what I easily assimilate into. I had a dream a couple hours ago (my nap for the evening) that I was in a red room. Like, blood red. Red chairs, red lights, red walls, red everything. And then I had a red LED light in my hand. And every time I tried to turn it on, nothing. But when I stepped outside the room, the light was very visible and very vibrant. The physics behind the light not being seen in the red room came down to the waves of the light being reflected off of the objects in the red room; the red room just absorbed the red light because they operated at the same frequency, resulting in no reflection of the light. THAT IS ME, I am that light. I am in a place that’s boring, simple, predictable, just as I am. I need to step outside of my red room and have a go at being what I truly am, not what I’ve molded into being.

The psychology of dreams. Red lights. Cool.

We could run away

Or, at least, I can. Six hours away? Few familiar faces? Live a little?

Dude fuck you guys

And that sums up how I feel about high school.

Life is an adventure, and adventures don’t peak with bullshit homework assignments, exams, and the same forty faces every day making the same jokes they stole off the internet.

Graduation, graduation, graduation!

Here. Here’s what I think.

I am unhappy because I let myself be unhappy, be it with my body, my mind, my soul, my travels, my choices, my insides, my deep deep deep down insides that I don’t like, I let those things make me be unhappy.

And that’s okay.

I get myself down a lot, and that’s when I write. I write to relieve it, then I feel good. I don’t write very much when I feel good. But when I feel bad, I feel it, and I feel it a lot, and I let it sink in and soak into my soul a little. I’m a sad person, that’s just how it goes. When I popped out, my life was not destined to be a saving grace for the frowns of the universe, I was meant to be just as I am.

And I know as often as I get sad, melancholic, hopeless, it just means my mind is still working. The sad makes me discontent. That discontent will make me change some things some day. And I don’t know what those things are, but I know they’ll come.

Besides, when I really think about it, I know I’ve got the good handful of people I love for the RIGHT reasons, a family who makes me devastatingly furious a lot of the time, four limbs, a little potential, and a lot more of the world to see. And I am so fucking grateful for all of the latter that the sad seems to fade a little.

I’ll keep my sad, but that’s because I know I’ve got my happy, too. I have exactly what and who I need, and part of that need is the sad, just to know how good the happy can get.