I have a lot of thoughts on my mind and I want to get them out.
First of all: why is it so hard to change?
I so badly want to be a morning person, but no matter how hard I try, I just value sleep more than having more hours in the day. I have this idea of the woman I want to be, but have no idea when/how I’m going to start being her.
On a different note, today I submitted a writing assignment and this is the first time I’ve ever been insecure about a piece of writing. There’s a lot of swearing in it, and it’s about eleven and twelve year old girls who want to be grown up so they put on mascara and talk about boyfriends and sex.
I was inspired to write something like that because of a photo I saved to my phone, of a little girl who looks 11/12 wearing a school uniform, casually laid back on the arm of a loveseat with a burned cigarette in her right hand and a glass of coke in her left. She looks so suave and carefree, and also happens to be eleven smoking a cigarette. She’s smiling all toothy, and her hair is short and brown. Outside it looks like it’s maybe 8PM on a summer night. Idk. It inspired me, and the main character is supposed to be her. But idk if that’s realistic. The story gets pretty dark when she and her crush (Lindsey) are out on the track field when Lindsey confesses that she’s had sex and it hurt a lot (implying she was raped). MESSED UP! I KNOW! I don’t know what came over me…
Anyway, I hope I don’t get an absolute shit grade on it. I also think its sense of plot is absolute garbage…look at me, here I go.
Thirdly, I feel like I just absolutely take my grandma for granted. She was so excited to help me with an assignment for another class. Long story short, she called me like seven times today and each time I was too busy or was caught up with something else to answer. She’s not real email and tech savvy and she just needed help. I feel so bad…I hope that she responds to my text in the morning, because tonight she called me and said “Did you get my email?” I replied “yeah! yeah I got it!” When I didn’t really know if I had or not. I checked, I didn’t get it and I need it for the assignment tomorrow.
I get so caught up in my own world. It’s really hard for me to stop and care about others before it’s too late. I feel like a total loser. Life is passing me by. FUCK! Okay…it’s okay. SHIT! Alright…I’m cool…
Currently sitting in a booth with my little sister, we’ve got our laptops out and such…HOMEWORK time.
The thing is I can’t focus on what to write, and the way my hands are positioned above my keyboard is uncomfortable and not natural. It looks like I’m playing the piano.
Anyway, there’s this group of three sitting around a round table. Two men and a woman. They’re all done up, but casually. So, the men are wearing Italian leather shoes with jeans rolled up at the bottom, with nice wrist watches and fresh haircuts, and plaid button-up shirts. The woman is really pretty, too. Her hair is chopped short above her shoulders and has nice wavy curls in it like in the hair commercials. Her pants are big around her tiny waist (fashion-choice) and the stripes are horizontal and tall.
A man walks in. He’s heavier set and not as clean-cut. He wears a leather jacket and what looks like Nike or Oasis sneakers. He is not as done up as them, but one of them stands up and greets him with one of those one arm guy hugs and then they fist bump or whatever.
“Hey man, it’s good to see you!” Says plaid shirt with Italian leather shoes, “How’re you doing?”
“I’ve had better days,” says leather jacket. They all sit down. The three done-ups sort of sitting on one side of the round table facing the non-done up guy. He’s having…marriage problems, I think. Says something about “she thinks I’m…and I’ve dated some girls…she’s dated here and there…but now…”
For once I am peeved that the strangers near me aren’t being obnoxiously loud. LET ME HEAR ABOUT YOUR LIFE! I DON’T WANT TO DO MY HOMEWORK!
So I’ve known C since babyhood. We’d do normal kids stuff, like trick-or-treat on Halloween together, hold hands, beat the shit out of each other, play with train sets in his backyard–
I don’t remember much, but what I can tell you is he had a broad jaw and these massive blue eyes that sunk into his head a little bit; made you wanna poke your head closer to him to get a better look.
We parted ways I’m not sure when…One day we were babymates, the next he was a ghost in my 13 year old mind.
Now, I say 13 because that’s when it dawned on me that I hadn’t seen this weird handsome boy since…I couldn’t remember when. I became obsessed with finding him. I bugged my mother to search for emails she’d sent to his mother, the phone-book, old Christmas cards, A N Y T H I N G. Anyway, I was super dejected and actually recall crying in front of my eldest sister because I was so lonely (get a grip). Then my mom found a letter with the return address and I sent a letter right quick.
For two weeks I checked the mailbox everyday after walking home from school. I’d tell my friends about him, dream about him. After awhile I gave up, and then I got the letter.
He told me to add him on Kik (first red flag), a dinosaur of a messaging app, and there we were, messaging and such. He seemed really nice, and right off the bat wanted to have nicknames for each other (cringe). He wanted me to call him ‘Ace’ and he wanted to call me ‘Pebbles’ (what?). Of course I agreed, though. Now, as my young self, I had this terrible disease where I would check my phone every 10 seconds, reply right away, lie about my knowledge on certain subjects (aka Pokemon), and send double, triple, replies to him.
After a week and a half or so, our mothers agreed that we could all link up at the local bowling alley. Here’s where Benedict Cameron’s lesson comes in.
DON’T LIE ABOUT YOUR INTERESTS TO IMPRESS SOMEONE.
Yeah… I… I don’t know. You may be confused, but let me tell you what I did, and ultimately how Benedict C went from ghost, to weird crush, to stranger.
We meet up at the bowling alley, he’s standing there with his mom and there’s my mom, and I come over…and after a week and a half of…consistently and constantly staring at my phone…waiting…when he’s standing right in front of me I don’t even look at him. After a full 10 minute conversation he says: “Hi.” Then I stupidly look at him as if I’ve just noticed him and I go, “Hi!”
I remember trying to accentuate my butt (I wore my best bootylicious jeans) and my awesome bowling skills (went into the side every time) because I said I loved bowling (I hated it). We went and got food later. He ordered a vegan burrito and the whole time had strings of lettuce hanging from his braces (hot).
This was also the moment when I discovered I had a thing for hands (no not a fetish, but something like that). He had really nice hands; with long, elegant fingers with a hint of young man.
Anyway, I never saw him again after that. After our initial meeting, I lied about what level my starter Pokemon was (level 173), and he said: “That’s impossible…unless you had a program like GameShark that allows you to hack the game…” or some nerdy quote like that.
I also barraged him with insecure messages when his power went out for a week and he lost power. He came back to see a lot of messages from me, and was like: “Whoa…chill…” and that was that.
So, I know there’s a lot of debate about whether people are born gay or not, and I don’t really care, but I know for a fact that before I was even out the womb, God said unto me: “You will love boys so much it will be a curse, you won’t be able to function socially, emotionally, or mentally for years–“
Or am I?
I’ve been mackin’ on boys since Pre-K. I remember the first boy who ever told me he’d kiss me, and it was when we were looking at a great big sky-scraper while in the backseat of a car. He looked up at it, then to me, and said:
“If we were up there, I’d kiss you.” And I remember thinking, why don’t you just kiss me now?
Table of Contents
(of the boys who’ve taught me things) In Chronological order!
Benedict Cameron; Tree Boy; The Twins; P; The Russians; Monkey Boy (Aka Ex No.1); Cook; Taco; Ex. No.1 (phase 2); Ex. No.2; Snake; Ex. No.4; Ex. No.5; Ex. No. 6