The last few mornings I've been waking up with thoughts about my college essay in my head. Writing has always been my way of trying to get perspective and make sense of the things in life which to me have no sense.
Outside my mother's window in her computer room she has a butterfly tree. Beautiful butterflies flutter to it, at least half a dozen times a day.
I know that's sort of random, but I wanted to remember it later. Saved for future keeping. Click.
It's been blisteringly hot in Saint Louis. So hot the sidewalks feel like they're melting beneath my feet, as the sweat escapes my body and reminds me it's trying to melt me. Melt me. Mold me. Reshape me.
I've been having trouble not feeling like a fat cow lately. None of my clothes fit quite right. Almost all of them need replacing, and between acne and stretch marks. I'm feeling not well used. No one wants to be a beautiful corpse. but no one wants to look ten years older than they are however either.
I have a hard time controlling my hunger lately. I sometimes feel like, I will never be full. If I can cram enough calories and morsels of food into my mouth, maybe my heart wont ache. Maybe I wont feel so lonely. And stressed.
Or maybe I'll just be slightly pudgier and one step closer to completely giving up.
Sigh.
I really shouldn't be so hard on myself. But I just... I want a different life than this. I want a different path, a different way.
I think that's the hard part of writing this essay really. The essay question, or topic in question -- is what can I contribute to the university. Which is in essence the same as that dreaded interview question, "so tell me about yourself." which everyone hates.
I feel like I wish I could ask them, which self do they want me write about. The me I am. The me I am trying to become, or the me I am leaving behind.
Anne of Green Gables always said, that "Tomorrow is a clean slate, with no mistakes in it. "
That doesn't make me feel any less afraid though. My isolation here in Saint Louis has been both good and bad. I feel like I am finally finding my voice again. However timid, and however hard I try to drowned it out, it's there.
Learning to steer my thoughts and my emotions through the care and discipline of a well inked pen however... is still taking some work.
Still I don't think I am ready for a friend yet. Because I'm not done talking yet, and wanting someone else to listen.
I am not yet ready to hear.
1:53 PM - 08.01.2010
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