Driven far apart, I make a wish on a shooting star
Okay, so I turn eighteen in approximately one hour CST (my time zone, obviously) and I'm trying not to panic. Somewhere in the back of my mind I have the vision of millions of perverts all over the country lifting their heads and sniffing the air with excitement, going, "Ahh, the scent of newly legal in the morning."
I'm not ready to be an adult. I could, if I had to, but I don't want to. I want to stay a child. I want to go back to the way things were, when my biggest problems were whether I was in dress code or not and what we were having for lunch that day.
I'm also just slightly afraid now that Dad will decide on a whim that he's tired of me and will just shove me out. I know that wouldn't happen, but that's never stopped my paranoid brain before, has it?
In other news, I now have a spectacular bruise on my right inner elbow. We're talking blood just under that surface, a diameter measured in full inches (somewhere around 3 1/2"), and every bruise color in the rainbow. It's actually rather pretty, in a gruesome sort of way. When I went to give blood, that lady practially raped my arm with the stupid needle because she couldn't get it situated in the vein properly. I ended up being really out of it. I was tired and my brain was fuzzy. I actually forgot the word "book".
How that happened was, I don't actually think in words, I think in pictures. So when I went to tell Mrs. Hughes that I needed to get my books, the sentence in my head was [picture of Mrs. Hughes]+[picture of my arms]+[picture of my books]. What came out was, "::dead voice:: Mrs. Hughes, I need to get my...." and I just stood there. I honestly could not remember the word that went with the image! After a second or two my synapses started firing again and I remembered, thankfully. I dragged myself back to my locker and spent about ten minutes trying to open it, then get out the books I needed, then putting up the ones I didn't. ::le sigh:: I ended up calling into work because I had a headache and I was nauseous - and I couldn't really use my right arm for the rest of the day. Taking notes fourth block was torture. It's fine now, except for the bruise.
I'm not ready to be an adult. I could, if I had to, but I don't want to. I want to stay a child. I want to go back to the way things were, when my biggest problems were whether I was in dress code or not and what we were having for lunch that day.
I'm also just slightly afraid now that Dad will decide on a whim that he's tired of me and will just shove me out. I know that wouldn't happen, but that's never stopped my paranoid brain before, has it?
In other news, I now have a spectacular bruise on my right inner elbow. We're talking blood just under that surface, a diameter measured in full inches (somewhere around 3 1/2"), and every bruise color in the rainbow. It's actually rather pretty, in a gruesome sort of way. When I went to give blood, that lady practially raped my arm with the stupid needle because she couldn't get it situated in the vein properly. I ended up being really out of it. I was tired and my brain was fuzzy. I actually forgot the word "book".
How that happened was, I don't actually think in words, I think in pictures. So when I went to tell Mrs. Hughes that I needed to get my books, the sentence in my head was [picture of Mrs. Hughes]+[picture of my arms]+[picture of my books]. What came out was, "::dead voice:: Mrs. Hughes, I need to get my...." and I just stood there. I honestly could not remember the word that went with the image! After a second or two my synapses started firing again and I remembered, thankfully. I dragged myself back to my locker and spent about ten minutes trying to open it, then get out the books I needed, then putting up the ones I didn't. ::le sigh:: I ended up calling into work because I had a headache and I was nauseous - and I couldn't really use my right arm for the rest of the day. Taking notes fourth block was torture. It's fine now, except for the bruise.