"Said I'm the best one you never had..."
I apologize for the entry last night. Pre-Hartwick homesickness abruptly decided to come in for a crash-landing, and I went bawling upstairs to my mom's room, and proceeded to spend the night with her eating vanilla ice cream and discussing the future. My mom is a vastly unsentimental and businesslike creature of habit. We're similar in the last respect, in that both of us despise change with an unmatchable fervor. But she doesn't understand a lot of the things I have problems with, because she isn't as deeply emotionally affected as I am. She never cries at movies and when I'm curled up in a corner and sobbing my heart out, she shrugs her shoulders and tells me to accept whatever it is I'm so distraught over and move on with my life. However, we've lived together long enough for her to understand that I'm an abominably sentimental person and need to be cuddled every once in a while. When my first boyfriend broke up with me, I went wailing up to her room, and she let me sit on the bed with her as I choked out some angsty adolescent dribble, and didn't question or judge, as I spent the remainder of the night alternating between wrenching sobs and angry shrieks. Last night, the problem was heartbreak of a different kind. I'm terrified of the future because I'm good at such a limited amount of things, and I know I'd feel worthless if I ended up in some office job. I would hate that so much. She tells me that the ones who are succesful and popular in high school don't often stay that way once they graduate. She tells me that I'll get recognized one day because not every director I encounter will be as obsessed with typecasting as Spangler is. I don't know that I believe her, but I do know that there's no point worrying so much about the future that the now is utterly eradicated from your mind.
On that note, anonymous may or may not be on. Make me regret it.
On that note, anonymous may or may not be on. Make me regret it.