Right at this instant: the backs of my thighs prickle with anticipation because I can't wait to see him, even though I know he's downstairs. He's vacuuming, and I sit at the edge of my bed, perched and ready to pounce should he come up those stairs. Come up the stairs.
I need to get my typewriter up and running. It makes you dedicate yourself to your thoughts and ideas: there's no going back, it's down, it's written, and now you have to live with it.
I feel like anything I write or say right now will be trite and worthless, so I suppose it's time to stop. That was quick.
I am sickeningly, painfully, frighteningly, stomach-turningly in love. Despite anything and everything, I remain disgustingly attached at the hip, wooed and romanced like a twisted princess. I am terrifyingly in love, and no one seems to understand, not even me and him. I am still fourteen.
Things feel too easy. I must be missing something. There's no conflict. My life is a book being written as we speak, and it makes me uneasy because I'm not the one writing it. We're in a state of rising action... rising toward what? Things seem to fall into my lap. Grades are not too terribly difficult to come by. I'm graduating early. My relationship is weird and frustrating but there's love there, so it functions. I have friends and family. I don't fight with people. Any internal questions fade from memory within hours. Something is missing. There's no conflict. I'm not afraid. I want a conflict. I want something to come fuck me up. I want to be shaken awake, and I want Life to scream in my face. This is not to say I need my life to fall to shambles, but something has to happen. It feels like I'm on a wheel: no matter how fast or slow I run, I will still be on a wheel, in the same cage, going no where. Except I'm going somewhere. A very predictable, bland somewhere. I need an upset. Knock me off the wheel, wake me up please someone something anything wake me up.