THREE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-FIVE / ONE
Here we go again.
THREE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-FOUR
Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me…
I truly can’t believe I’ve kept up a blog for an entire year. My long-term projects always tend to die out somewhere around one hundred days, so this is a major accomplishment. True, some days weren’t incredibly exciting, no more than a few words, but documenting them here has still happened. It almost seems surreal that a year ago, I was just starting this, wondering if I could get all the way through. Looks like I have.
Today started early with a trip to the doctor, the annual physical. I’ve lost a substantial amount of weight since last year, and have essentially remained healthier as well (read: I had fewer visits to the ER and not as many stitches or casts). Yes, my eating has gone further to shit, and I still have many nasty tendencies, but overall, I’m healthier. Happier, too.
Mom and I got bagels and coffee and did some grocery shopping. I was mildly thrilled by the fact that, if I so desired, I could waste my money on overpriced cancer sticks, pornography that I could just as easily get for free on the internet, and tattoos I’d regret in ten years. I did buy a fake tat for fifty cents in a little machine outside of the grocery store, and used it later on to scare the piss out of my father. He has a thing against any sort of “body art;” let’s just say that he didn’t speak to me for a few hours tonight while he thought it was real.
When home, Novio came by and gave me a gorgeous pair of earrings (“I know you don’t wear red and yellow a lot, but I’m positive they’ll look amazing on you. Anything does.”) and we curled up on the couch to watch Due Date and chill. It’s incredible, at least to me, what this boy means. After three days straight with most people, one on one, I would loathe them. It isn’t a personal thing; I’m just not cut out for long periods of time with an individual due to my short attention span and slight lack of patience. Novio is different. I still love him just as much, if not more, and am perfectly happy to do anything from napping to holding hands to kissing to…well, you get the idea. It is absolutely going to kill me to leave him in a few months. I don’t even want to think of that now. People are truly impressed by the two of us, and when I think about it, we’ve been on and off for almost a year now, about ten months. Technically we weren’t “together” until May of last year, but for a few months preceding that, we spent a lot of time with one another. Funny how these things work out. I’m glad we’ve been where we have in this last year, though; there’s not a single moment that I regret.
My birthday cake was covered in lottery tickets, on which I won $12. Not bad for my first haul…I’ll be cashing them in in the morning on my way to babysit. I’ve got a new load of college swag, wind-up toy robots, colored bubbles, and candy. How great is that? Thank you, family.
I feel that, in this last year, I have changed a great deal. I know better where friendships and relationships lie. I have accepted more, challenged more, and reached out more than ever before. I took chances that helped and hurt. I’m much more mature now, having learned a lot about responsibility, being more of an adult, looking at the future, and all of that jazz. It isn’t always fun, and sometimes it downright sucks. That’s life, though. You take the good with the bad, and wait for the sunshine again. It always comes back, and if it doesn’t look like it’s coming soon enough for you, start searching out where it is. You’ll find it.
We’re really only little dots in an enormous world at the end of the day. Think about it too much and you’ll give yourself a headache, but it’s great for putting thigns into perspective. What seems like the end of everything isn’t always that bad, yet tiny triumphs somehow seem even larger when put into this grand scheme. I don’t know how, but I don’t think I really want to. It’s kind of a beautiful mystery, life, and I don’t believe that anyone will ever entirely figure it out. Who knows, though? For now, I say we keep living one day at a time. They add up fast, and before you realize it, an entire year is gone, memories made, moments swept away. It’s bittersweet for sure, but if you can smile in the end, that’s what’s truly important.
THREE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-THREE
Oh, Park School, why can’t you just give me more money? That’s the only thing holding me back at this point. Between the education, the people, the campus, and the surrounding area, I’m set; there is so little that I dislike. It’s the price tag that hurts. Being accepted as a TV-R major in December with a $15,000 scholarship on regular decision is hugely impressive. It earned a fist bump from a man working in admissions who reminds me vaguely of Morgan Freeman. Obviously it’s a big deal. Nevertheless, I want to make them want me more. Fifteen grand isn’t a sizeable enough chunk of the tuition to make it feasible for me to attend the school (does that give you a rough idea of how much this is going to cost?). Oy vey.
I did meet with a professor, and he told me everything that I wanted to hear and more. If anything, it’s made me long for this school beyond what I thought was longing before. It also showed Novio that I will be (assuming I can scrape up the money for this school) in the best place possible, and made him realize how much I love what I plan to do. We snatched up some sweats and papers, toured around, grabbed delicious pizza, and rode forever in the car. Poor boy ended up sick again, though. :( Still, it made me so happy that he could come.
(Late because I was asleep within five minutes of getting home last night)
THREE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-TWO
Start spreadin’ the news: I am leaving today. I want to be a part of it, New York, New York!
We wandered so far in one day, or at least, it felt like it. Even Novio’s sister was impressed. We started at Penn Station, and throughout the day ended up at Grand Central, Times Square, Lincoln Center, Rockefeller Center, Bryant Park, the library, Union Park, Central Park, St. Mark’s Place, and a ton of in betweens that I didn’t recognize. The boy is city-smart, for sure; he got us everywhere just in time, made sure I didn’t get hit or fall, and (I think) had a sensor for the cheapest and best pizza in the area. My hand was not in his for a maximum of about ten minutes total all day. The only thing that really hurt was when he fell asleep on the train next to me on the ride home and I realized how precious our time is, because I’m going to have to leave him soon. I sobbed like a baby, and he just held me, wiped my face dry, and told me things would be okay. I don’t know how much I believe it, but I’m trying. I am so, so, so lucky to have someone so wonderful in my life. After a day like today, I’m absolutely certain of it. For 100% of the time that we were together, we were happy. What else possibly matters?
(Late because I needed to sleep as soon as I got home to be ready to be up early for a college trip)
THREE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-ONE
Happy birthday, Madre. I love you.
And Libya…I send my hope and raise as much awareness as I possibly can. Tomorrow, when I reach Strawberry Fields, I will be placing a flower for peace there.
THREE HUNDRED AND SIXTY
“Dying” repeatedly in a “gunfight” in a dance studio leaves its mark. Namely, bruises and floorburn. Nevertheless, seeing my choreographer’s face light up when I brought out cupcakes and candles made my day.
The fam went out for dinner and our waitress, a close friend, surprised my mother and I with a “double birthday” treat. Of course it involved singing. I really don’t enjoy going out to eat is the thing, though. It’s a nice gesture, but being forced to eat when I’m not hungry makes me upset, nauseous, and self-conscious. Blegh.
Came home with a fever and crashed out about 9:00 PM. You know you’re exhausted when you fall asleep in skinny jeans.
(Late)
THREE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-NINE
Going shopping with my mom is such fun sometimes. She let me ramble about Novio, and I think it put some of her fears to rest. We’re responsible, as far as teenagers go, and she understands that. It made me smile how she said, “You’re making the right choice to break this off before you go to college…but I like the idea that you still plan to know him afterwards. Who knows what might happen?” I’m not going to drop him because I’m leaving; we’ll stay friends (or a bit more than on breaks), keep in touch, et cetera, et cetera. I nearly cried in the parking lot when she got me talking about leaving him…that one’s going to hurt a lot. We both need to be free as we expand our lives, but that doesn’t mean we can’t come back together and explore hand in hand at some point. I enjoy how promising it seems. My father also admits that he has “a whole lot of respect for that boy,” AND WE ARE OFFICIALLY GOING TO NEW YORK CITY TOGETHER FOR A DAY. :D :D :D
I stayed up ‘til one in the morning making cupcakes with my mother for the choreographer I work with. Her birthday’s tomorrow, and I want to bring her something special for it at rehearsal. We did have a cake made, but between how burned it ended up being and the awful job I did decorating (blobs =/= dancers), glittery cupcakes seemed like a far tastier/prettier/all around better option. We watched Castle while they baked, had overtired giggly time, and ended the day on a good note.
(Late)
THREE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-EIGHT
I did not go to rehearsal.
I did not babysit.
I did not do anything but come home and sleep.
Happy vacation, self. Feel better soon.
(Late)
THREE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-SEVEN
Jazz band makes me realize that youth is losing talent and any reason to give a damn about it. These kids seriously do not care in the least that our music is simple on a pathetic level, yet we SUCK. There’s no nicer way to put it. They refuse to practice and improve, and our director nagging them doesn’t do jack shit. It’s infuriating that we have to sound awful because half of the group can’t be bothered to “waste time” on the music. This isn’t about you, kids; this is about the band. You joined a group, and you have to work for the group, not yourself.
“You’re too young to lose faith in humanity,” my Spanish teacher tells me. I’m not so sure about that sometimes.
(Late)
THREE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-SIX
Sick, sicker, sickest.
I’m at sicker, and Novio’s at sickest. I don’t enjoy having to scream at twelve year olds with a sore throat, and I despise moving sets when it hurts to do anything but sleep. I hate when people I love are so sick that they can barely stay awake, and being put down constantly helps nothing.
(Late)
