A Map Of The World.

My preoccupation with mortality as of late is mostly distracting. My vivid imagination paints car crashes and murders.  I’m afraid of letting it age me before I am done being invincible. I have thick, relentless nightmares that must speak volumes if I were to try and decipher them. But for the most part, I have been bored. Trying to learn to be less alive. This is most likely the last ten days of boredom I will have until I’m dead, seeing as how life is really starting and all. I have a little less than a year to come up with a spectacular plan.

I went back to Butler last week. The stillness and the green. The pick-up trucks. My baby sister. It wasn’t enough time. I could’ve stayed forever, just watching the days grow old and come back again. The beauty is so easy to see at home. It’s nice not having to work for it. Guess I’ve woken up. I am truly surprising myself with who I am turning out to be. Or who I am allowing myself to be.

I look at my mother and somewhere in my chest, a bubble. My father is so grey now, his face still that of a ten year old. We share silent car rides with ease now.

There are things surfacing in me lately. Quiet aspects that want attention, permission. True, it doesn’t add up with the woman I always thought I’d be. But this could be what maturity means. The very definition has always felt somwhat aloof from me, after all.

I feel the only way to do this last fucked up year at college is laugh, drink, sing, work harder than I ever have, and look at myself and be happy. Let up on myself at the exact moment I would normally be cracking down.

My preoccupation with mortality. While most likely unhealthy and probably strange for a usually bubbly twenty-one year old, at least has opened my eyes to the fact that I have spent most of my life hating very many things. The vast majority of which are about myself.

There will be no resolutions made tonight. That’s not where I was going with this. But – an acknowledgement.

Ah.