I'm sitting here at one in the morning, eating a cup of noodles and drinking a cup of blueberry tea, thinking of loves won and lost and never to be gained and taken by others and attracted to their own sex, wishing that I were Mitchell and that I could find my lovely Cam because maybe things would be easier that way, and I'm realizing I'm terrified by the fact that I won't be able to do exactly this soon. I'll have a job. I'll be in college. I'll be more mature and won't take as much pleasure in tumblr and tv and staying for the sake of staying up. I'll be a grown up.
I don't feel ready to be an adult. I haven't read enough books, kissed enough boys, tried to rock climb or ride a book enough. My mandolin will sit in the corner and continue to gather dust as my poster lay unpinned, giving way to family photos and color-coded wall calenders.
I see Sam with her purple hair and her legs on Spencer, his own outrageous hair bouncing as they discuss 20th century poets next to Will and Arianna playing MarioKart and slumped so far down on the couch, it's a miracle they can see. I see us gathered together for what seemed like the sole purpose of watching cats. I see a carful of girls screaming as the freeway becomes dominated by traffic cones before they resume their neverending heartbroken rants, each girl bemoaning their own boy, some eyes filling with anger and some with exasperation and some with sadly undying hope. Surely, adults don't do that. They don't have the beautiful side effects of youth, that reckless abandon and
I'm not ready to lose what seems like my entirety. In the same way that Amy and Rory's hints of leaving could never have prepared me for their deaths, financial lit has not prepared me for a life where I have to make my own money in order to survive. How will I be able to wear the clothes I want or eat the food I like or live between some walls at all? How will I be able to read or write or go to school or fall in love if the majority of my life is spent trying to sustain my life?
I'll be expected to be in a stable relationship, preferrably a marriage. Boys don't like me. I know they don't. I'm too sarcastic, too crazy, too pretentious and emotional and needy and nerdy. I'm quiet and shy and anxious. I'm not skinny and I'm not sweet and I'm not pretty enough to make up for any of that. If I can't get any silly teenaged boys to like me, how in hell am I supposed to find an eternal companion? (not with language like that, I can tell you) It seems the older I get, the less appealing I become. I swear, Micaiah was an anomaly. I was lucky enough to garner the attention of an older man who liked band and the idea of raising children and making out. Who am I to think that one single relationship that shouldn't have happened in any real universe qualifies me to be romantically happy at all?
I don't want to feel like this, scared and lonely and low. That's no way to finish out high school. But with all of my friends here going on missions straightaway and all of my friends in Texas sending off their college applications, I feel that I am going nowhere. I have no plan, and that brings me down. I have no present, and that brings me down. I can't write a sonnet or play "The A Team" or anything from Southern Air, and that brings me down. Things are supposed to get better as you get older. High school is supposed to be better than middle school. Senior year is supposed to be great. College is supposed to be better. My path seems to turn out as a negative graph, and through extrapolation, I can just see myself hating life as the future goes on.
I guess I'm not afraid of adulthood. It seems I'm actually afraid of myself.
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