Nothing substantial is going on in my life. Plenty is going on, and none of it really matters. I've gotten better at listening - I listen so well that I've forgotten how to talk.

And so right now...I can't think of anything to say.

I can't remember what it's like to not have to worry about what I think...to just write and not even care. Because I don't really write anymore. Which is sad. Instead, I listen to other people's problems and offer them advice and solutions...I'm like a shrink.

But I don't even get fucking paid.

I'm losing touch with my tangibility...I think I've stopped existing. I keep reaching out, but I only brush up against things that really exist - then they slip away. And I'm left feeling sort of alone. And that feeling of alone makes me feel like I don't exist in any real sense.

I'm sick of winter...I always get this way right around this time, when there is no horizon - everything is grey and nothing changes.

And I never say anything right.

There is a lot going on and I think I like it all. I am sick right now; I don't like that. I'm home alone, and I wish I could play music loud but my head hurts and so that would just make it worse.

Midwinter was fabulous. I feel really good about it, even though there were some difficulties. Drama-drama-drama. Whatever.

I did another body map, which was fun, but I didn't finish it. Maybe I will get some oil pastels from the art store in Hanover, and finish it. It's nice to think that, at least.

I miss all of these people who I saw only six hours ago. And I think I learned the most about him when we said nothing at all, but we just sat next to each other while watching everyone else go crazy. Or maybe when we had crammed ourselves onto the couches with everyone else, and while we said almost nothing, we both felt that we walked away with some understanding that transcended any words we might have used.

I wish I hadn't forgotten how to write.

-I fractured my thumb, and sprained the ligament. The conclusion I've come to is not to open doors with my dominant hand, because eventually, someone will come bursting through the door at the exact moment that I'm reaching for the doorknob, and it will crash into me and I'll spend four hours in the E.R.

Taken from Chessie:
"post a comment on anything that you want, and post it anonymously.
it can be anything. a story, a secret, a confession, a fear, a love - anything.
it can be about anyone. me, you, a parent, a sibling, a crush.
be sure to post anonymously and honestly. post twice if you'd like.
then, if you want, put this in your journal to see what your friends have to say."



I'm too caught up in my world right now - I'm too worried about everything and I know I need to de-stress and I know I need to chill out. I would have this weekend, but I ended up being responsible, because I always fall under that trap.

The play. I don't know my lines. I haven't done any costume work this week, and I'm totally behind.

SATs. I haven't even started studying yet. And I have 2 and a half weeks until I take them.

College. Four weeks until my app is due. I don't know if I will last till then - and then I will wait another 4-6 weeks until I find out if I got in. Until I find out if I must repeat this process for other schools that aren't quite as right for me.

The other play is over - and that reality hasn't quite sunk in yet. I can't imagine not seeing them all this weekend. The tour went fabulously, and the video will premiere in Burlington at the end of November. But that is a while from now.

And then there's the rest of my life, my social life that I've put on hold indefinitely. I am not as present for all my friends as I want to be, as they need me to be.

To you, I'm sorry. That I never even see you, let alone talk to you. But you never seem to want to. Or maybe I seem inapproachable. I don't know in what light you see me now.

Let's just leave it at: I'm sorry.

There's nothing really for me to say. Because all that I say these days, I've said a thousand times before.

I miss you.
 
I love you.

I am sorry.



Who does that apply to?

Who doesn't that apply to? That is what you should really ask.





So much time has passed, and while so much has happened, none of it is worth reliving it in the way that I would were I to take note of it here.

The last few days have been some sort of twisted emotional roller-coaster. Seriously, every few hours, my mood swings to some other extreme based on the fact that things keep happening, right after another, not giving me the time to breathe.


Most importantly, my past has come back to haunt me. And I don't know what to think of that. For so long, I had so much to say, and I never thought I would get a chance to say it. But now that I do...I find I am less angry. And that I forgave without realizing that I had. So there's not much to say about that, though I wonder why he felt so bad as he did. I just...It's strange to remember it all now, so long after the fact.


And that, piled on top of the opening of the show (which went fabulously), and the usual cast drama, and this whole new play that has begun as well as the old (a smallish part for me, though I'll also be designing and managing costumes for a 30-person cast), and still trying to get my school work done and I keep meaning to send in part I of my early decision application, but I forget.

I miss you.


I know we will see each other more once we have fallen into the patterns of things and we find the places in our day to meet up.




But right now I just miss you.

----

School. Let the games begin...



My life is crazy right now, with being so busy and rehearsal this weekend.

I'm already sick of this town, I'm already ready to leave tomorrow...
Is that bad?





Get me out of here...Or at least get out of my head.

There is something slightly odd about being home. I don't feel comfortable here. I don't want to be here, trapped within the same walls as these two people who just... Let's just say that life is difficult here right now, and I don't understand why he is sleeping on the couch when he lives in another house now. I want to back in my dorm, with my roommate's obsessive neatness and Abercrombie clothes hung perfectly by color in her closet, such contrast to my clothes thrown haphazardly into the drawers beneath my bed, hanging out. I want to open my door to hear people singing. I want to go upstairs and find people lying on the floor of the common room, being hypnotized. I want to go in their room to listen to Belle and Sebastian, Rocky Horror Picture Show and and Simon and Garfunkel and eat goldfish and s'mores poptarts. I want to feel my key and meal card jingling in my pocket. I want to sit by the painted rock and look at the clouds. I want to climb up to the roof and watch for shooting stars until the sunrises. I want to quietly sing that song I wrote, and have the noise taper off as they stop talking to listen. I want to hear him stick his head out there door - "Where's Meredith?" I want to make them raman noodles and tuck them into bed and sing them a lullaby at three in the morning, when they are too far gone to walk down the hall without my help, and they won't remember it in the morning. I want to sit in the wings and keep working on that design I spent two weeks on whenever I was at rehearsal and not onstage. I want to be tossed down the hall, down this line of people, until he grabs me and runs into his room, throwing me onto his bed (which had seven mattresses piled on it) because I was his hostage till we could watch Family Guy. I want to watch the two of them go streaking just as some college students walk out the nearby dorm. I want to go running up the stairs with my bra and shirt in my hand, because they were certain I wouldn't do it - but I'm the only girl in the show with enough guts to even half-streak. I want to sing into that microphone and smile, because I am sharing it with my friends, our arms around each other as we sing our hearts out and we know we sound good, and this take will be the one on the soundtrack. I want to be crammed around on table at dinner, ten or twelve of us at a table that should fit half as many.



I want to be someplace other than here. I miss them - four days until I see any of them again. But after three weeks with them 24/7, four days sounds like four years.

It is raining here.

I wonder if it is raining there.

(I wonder what cabin I would have been assigned to. Who would have been in it with me. What counselors have returned. Have they come up with some good programs. Does anybody remember me.)




This camp has been too large a part of my identity for too long. Two days since it began (without me) and I miss it. I didn't think it would be this sad. Two years, I tell myself, until I will see it again. That's not so bad, especially since I know, since I have known since I was ten, that I will be a counselor.

I'm just not satisfied with how I spent my time there last year.

----

Is it raining at your house? Are you awake in your bed, listening to rain roll off your roof and by your window? Or have you fallen asleep? Are you dreaming of me?


I can't stop thinking about you (ever). I wish I saw you more. I don't like it that I can't see you as often as I'd like. And things will be getting more difficult now, which I will explain.

I love you. I love you like that sigh of relief when you are apprehensive of seeing your friend in the hospital, but he sees you come in, and he says your name, and you know that he's okay. (Holy fuck I'd been worried)

Not because nothing is going on. No. Too much is going on, but it seems so pointless to write about it, and I'm so busy anyway. Suffice to say, my life is being torn to shreds right now, by motorcycle crashes and the waste of four days that I spent in Pennsylvania, among other things. I felt the whole time that I wasn't where I needed to be, and while I guess I enjoyed my time there, I needed to be home for certain people (including myself).



If this is what happens when I leave for four days, what will happen when I leave on Sunday, and I don't come back for three more weeks?


I'm a little afraid. (More than a little)






----

There are a lot of things I need to sort out right now, and it's difficult. I don't know if you understand that, but I hope you do. I'm sorry but...I love you. (As though that might explain whatever hurt my temper and anxiety may potentially cause...Another one of my lovely disclaimers)


I love you like the color of the sunsets that Maxfield Parrish is famous for - the brilliant purples and pinks, and most importantly, blue-greens. Because when looking at the paintings, you think for sure there would never be a sunset like that; and then every so often, you're driving and you see one just like it. Maybe there is a little beauty in the world (however small, at least it's there).