tous les matins je me lève et je me dis, “ce soir je me couche tôt.” déjà je m’inquiète que minuit se trouve “tôt.” eh ben.

i finished cleaning my room today, vacuumed the carpet. i guess it’s a slightly lighter shade of beige than i previously believed. also, when i looked closely at it, i realized that i shed an awful lot of curly (or straight, as the case may be) blonde hair all over everything. and now that my room is even more frighteningly clean that it was previously, i have space for suitcases. so there are two large suitcases in my room, taking up most of my newfound free space. they’re a jarring reminder. i have to work my way around them when i want to get from one side of the room to another; they won’t get out of my face. what does a suitcase symbolize? maybe, for some, adventure and exploration. for others, freedom. for me they symbolize a ticking clock. this whole “leaving for college” spiel feels an awful lot like the end of high school: i was pretty excited for it, for finally getting out of here, and now that it’s actually happening, i think: wait! no-no-no-no-no! i’m not done yet! it’s like the mall at christmastime as a little kid. there was santa on a big chair surrounded by sparkly things and fake snow. and all the little kid wants to do is go talk to santa, and when his mother finally lets go of him, he runs and runs. but the closer he gets to santa, the slower he runs, and by the time he finally reaches santa his mother is pushing him towards the stuff of his dreams and he’s digging in his heels in terror. it’s like that, though my mother sure isn’t pushing me. i’m pushing myself, in perpetual duality (this is such a problem), towards friday morning. i don’t really know why i beat onwards. perhaps it is the ominous, hollow feeling that there might not be much left for me here anymore and i don’t want to stick around and find out whether or not i’m right.

i really hate being right, because i tend to be such a pessimist. so when i’m right about something, it’s usually something rather unpleasant and nobody’s smirking. i just briefly feel the sick pleasure of knowing that i was right and everything is going wrong. under my personal rain cloud, the glass is neither half empty nor half full: rain is pouring into it and it still manages to be completely empty. so, naturally, when i feel optimistic, i get a little worried. i always get this feeling, that if i get too happy, like the sun is shining out every pore, then i’ll end up like a bug on the windshield of one of life’s great joykillers. il y en a plein.

eh ben, je me couche tôt. il est seulement minuit et demi.