I am sorry, in advance, for my completely unwarranted complaints.
Sometimes, I feel like I'm living in the past -- as if all the days and months between now and next September are already over and everything between now and then is just a memory. For, whatever happens between now and then doesn't matter. I'm not interested, and (barring the possibilities of freak accidents, pandemics, the amputation of several limbs or my being arrested) I know where I'll be a year from now and that place is not connected to the day-to-day events of this one. I feel like I'm just haunting these days, idly, waiting for my future to catch up with me. It's frustrating. I feel like I'm wasting time and falling behind. I'm ready to leave, but I can't.
Other times, I feel utterly lost and unsure if I'll ever make it off this continent, out of high school, away from this mess of my lack of life. Especially when my mom reminds me of the exchange rate. Then, I get become this unreasonable, dramatic bitch. I cry and I scram and my mom, who, all things considered, has been nothing but understanding. Ugh. I hate this. I can't wait for this whole year to be over -- to move away from this place which is both stagnant and turbulent and to live. I hate being a teenager and I hate high school and I hate not having control over what happens next. For, conceivably, small events could take all of my dreams away from me and force me to endure years and years of this. Ca me fait beacoup de peur.
I hate the mercurial nature of my mood of late; one minute I’m laughing hysterically because I'm moving to Scotland, the next I'm in a rage. I have exactly what I want, and I should just be happy with that and wait patiently while concentrating my energies on trying to finance it.
Other times, I feel utterly lost and unsure if I'll ever make it off this continent, out of high school, away from this mess of my lack of life. Especially when my mom reminds me of the exchange rate. Then, I get become this unreasonable, dramatic bitch. I cry and I scram and my mom, who, all things considered, has been nothing but understanding. Ugh. I hate this. I can't wait for this whole year to be over -- to move away from this place which is both stagnant and turbulent and to live. I hate being a teenager and I hate high school and I hate not having control over what happens next. For, conceivably, small events could take all of my dreams away from me and force me to endure years and years of this. Ca me fait beacoup de peur.
I hate the mercurial nature of my mood of late; one minute I’m laughing hysterically because I'm moving to Scotland, the next I'm in a rage. I have exactly what I want, and I should just be happy with that and wait patiently while concentrating my energies on trying to finance it.