Post Cards

Quote: "Nobody can go back and start a new beginning, but anyone can start today and make a new ending." -Maria Robinson

Thank God September is over. 12 months in the year and I swear it’s the only one I hate. For one, it means going back to school but that’s really the least of it. Everything September stands for annoys me. It’s a time for adjustment. The weather is not never quite right. One day you sweat walking across campus, the next you find yourself zipping up your sweatshirt. Its as if both you and mother nature are still clinging to summer but being pulled in my forces beyond control.

You make your transitions, set up a new routine. I hate that. I hate change. But I do love October. By then things have settled. Leaves are changing, wind is brisk but not cold, good things happen to me in October. I’m five days in and waiting.

That might be part of my problem. I’m constantly waiting for something to happen to me. I work at my dead end job, ringing up guest after guest, hoping to be saved. That tomorrow I’ll meet an amazing girl who will show me the way. I’ll run into someone who just so happens to have an amazing internship lined up for me. I do nothing but dream these days.

If I accomplish anything this year it has to be getting over my fears. Moving out and moving on is damn near terrifying for me. It saddens me that I’m staying in a town that has so little to offer me. Though what gets me most is just how terrified I am of leaving.

I’ve recieved a post card from Brianne, a girl I dated 3 Octobers ago. I met her at what has now become my dead end job. She was the new girl and I was newly single. We flirted and kissed at red lights before I broke her heart. She’s in Argentina now, studying abroad, living with a "host mom", having adventures. When she returns in a few months she’ll want to see me. We’ll meet up and I’ll sit across from her at a coffee house listening to her stories filled with exotic locales, different languages and strangers. She’ll smile, play with her straw and tell me itsmy turn. I’ll give her my tales and tell them with such passion she might not even realize all my stories end with a broken heart or drunken mistake.

She’ll ask about school, quietly make suggestions about transfering. I’ll get wishy washy, but she’s prepared for that. She knows me so well. She’ll tell me to go for it. I’ll listen because she’s right though nothing will come of it.

I need to break the cycle.