Li2O

I haven't even thought about writing yet.
until now I suppose.
first day of class today, stupid BIO. I am so incredibly not down.
Yesterday I went for a run in Lithia Park early in the morning. It was so uncharacteristic because first of all, I've always strictly been a night runner and second of all, I finally did something I said I was going to do.
I say a lot of things. my follow through average is not the best.
But maybe it will be now.
I find myself half missing some people and actually missing others.
I'm just so focused on whats going on here that its hard to split my attention.NOW I get why August was so lonely. I get now needing to be present with new friends rather than focusing on the ones you left behind.

[Lithia Park]

I don't think anyone can begin to understand how excited I am for the leaves to change. They're already starting. I'm going to have a REAL fall.

"the time has come", the walrus said.

REPEAT.

"you can try to take a picture, but its already gone."

finally a Morrocco.

I would be willing to bet an enormous chunk of my life savings [if not all of it] that the person who said the following words to me doesn't

1.remember me
2. remember saying these words.

"its a funny thing: when its finally your turn it doesn't feel like your turn anymore."


Tomorrow is my last day here.
Last night after I got back from my run, I walked into my room and stared at the large wooden cabinet. Over the years I've hidden artifacts from my childhood in there, covering it with a decorative sheet for good measure so I didn't have to look at the mess it held.
I figured for a laugh I would look at some of the things I stuffed in there, old journals mainly.
As I read the pages of my fourteen year old self wishing I could be eighteen and be leaving the house and my idealized versions about what college would be like, I sat and marveled at the fact that while there had been so many distractions and choices that I made that perhaps weren't the best, I really stuck to what I wanted to do.
The thing I found most interesting was a notebook I began when I was about seven. it was, for lack of a better definition, a bucket list. Not just a little list either, this was a notebook with pages and pages of things that I had been checking off since I was seven and by the looks of the boxes I had left unchecked, I had abandoned somewhere around the age of fifteen. So, I picked up a pen and began to check. It was satisfying looking at everything I had accomplished,[especially more recent developments].
As I stuffed the old book back in my cabinet and looked around my room full of boxes those words spoken by that person rung loudly in my head. To be quite honest, I couldn't tell you what the person who said those words looked like if you paid me the same chunk of cash I wagered earlier but I think that's what I like most about the whole thing.
Certain people have moments of poignancy that are meant to just enjoy while you remember them. I feel like I need to remind myself that sometimes you meet people and they only stick around for what feels like a split second, but maybe that's all you needed them for. Maybe its better that way.

I may have said that I was ready to leave for years, but now that its finally my turn, it doesn't feel like my "turn" anymore. it just feels like its time.

I should be unemployed.

Pinpointing a place to start is nearly impossible.
this is reminiscent of the anxiety I use to feel when I couldn't figure out what to write on the first page of a notebook. I mean, no matter what, every time I opened my notebook I would have to see the ugly chicken scratch of that particular days musings. then I would mock myself weeks later for the words I used and the things that I felt.
Perhaps I can begin there:


Right before we jumped off the dock I regretted the flippers I got. they didn't feel right. the water was freezing and felt like pins all over my face. We all searched for strange looking fish that we had never seen before with our flashlights and clung to each other to keep warm. then they told us to turn of the flashlights. the bioluminescence floated aimlessly around in front of my face and I kept reaching out. It was as though we were swimming through stars. finding something like this, seeing it felt impossible.

I work against being the sentimental type.
I work against it like its my job.
maybe it is.
maybe it shouldn't be.

its called insomnia folks.....

my mind is running nearly seven marathons.

fifteen day adhesive. buy while supplies last.

I feel this sense of control that I probably shouldn't feel right now.
In any normal circumstance everything should feel unstable.
fifteen more days and I'm out of here.
I've been waiting to be out of here since I started high school. I believe it was the third day of freshman year when I thought to myself as I sat in my algebra for dummies class, "can I go now?"
It would make perfect sense for me to feel like I was unraveling. but I don't. I'm ready.
The only minor thing that concerns me is what will happen to my foundation. what will happen here with the fundamental things that I'm leaving behind?
in regards to my friends, they'll be fine. Most of them already have a handful of people they are already comfortable with. They are already gone. The ones who remain here will have a lot to think about and probably won't waste a beat missing me.
But what will become of the two pillars that hold the roof up. They're already cracked and damaged enough. I have been a sort of adhesive for the past couple years.
what will become of the pillars.

I would categorize myself as the red door and the roof between the pillars. except,I'll be able to hold myself up. and without the pillars being able to hold something up they will most likely crumble.

I can watch a sunset on my own

"I guess I usually go for guys that are shy. Or not as socially equip as me...or something...That are lost...is that even right?"

"Well. That's going to stop working for you. You're going to need someone that challenges you."

"Yeah. I guess I need to find that to believe it exists."