(no subject)
When I think about excitement, I think about riding the tilt-a-whirl, spinning around, feeling all the pressure forced to the very center of everything, squinting my eyes tight, and then opening them up to see a blur of the world pass by in watercolor. This summer started out as a lot of waiting-waiting to get out of my dad’s, into this house, for a job I could tolerate, to find myself out after kinda biting it with the whole Monmouth thing, getting ready for the U of I, and now here I am, and everyday kinda feels like that tilt-a-whirl. It feels like everything has come so far in these past few months, and it makes sense that now school would start, now when I want it least, now when I’m finally settled, the centripetal pressure of my life pressing in my core, yelling, screaming, 'weee, i'm the happiest kid alive.' Because most days, I really believe that I am.