I get that change doesn’t come on a particular day of the year
and, more often than not, promises made are soon after broken;
but there’s something very comforting about knowing that
on this day, you aren’t alone in hoping for something better.
According to the Merriam-Webster dictionary, surreal is defined as being “marked by the intense irrational reality of a dream; also: unbelievable, fantastic”.
And given the whirlwind mess that has been this past sem (and me), this is nothing but. Grateful and motivated beyond words.
All It Takes
Exactly 74 days ago, I let myself. I let myself and I wrote:
I will let myself, just for the day, let myself acknowledge the maybes and the possibilities of future feelings and alternate realities; things aside from all the work and all the buzz and the hustle and bustle I have mapped out for myself. Like maybe, there could be room for something more than just that. Like maybe, someone like you and something like the way you make me laugh and some more of that disgusting feeling I get in my stomach over the silliest of things.
74 days ago, never would I have imagined the stupidity and exhaustion I was bringing down upon myself.
Because for today, I remember what attracts me in a person; exactly what I have and will continue to avoid at all times, at all costs, except for today.
Next time, I’ll be more careful. Definitely a whole lot more careful.
But for now, well, restart.
My last-push-of-the-sem, stress-of-life to-do list, aptly entitled: DO OR DIE
(a.k.a. the reason why I seem to have fallen off the face of the Tumblrverse)
Small and insignificant, that is how I feel. Just so, so very small.
I’m the girl who constantly falls for different people’s versions of the same damn thing, all the time thinking, “maybe this time it’ll be different.” What an idiota.
Tumblrverse, meet ACOMM X a.k.a. the lovely people that I’m stuck with (not that I mind one bit) for the rest of the year! ♥
And today, I will stay in bed and eat too much. I will watch a bunch of musicals and get just enough done. I will curl up under my covers and listen to the rain.
I will let myself, just for the day, let myself acknowledge the maybes and the possibilities of future feelings and alternate realities; things aside from all the work and all the buzz and the hustle and bustle I have mapped out for myself. Like maybe, there could be room for something more than just that. Like maybe, someone like you and something like the way you make me laugh and some more of that disgusting feeling I get in my stomach over the silliest of things. Because for today, I remember what attracts me in a person; exactly what I have and will continue to avoid at all times, at all costs, except for today. And today, I remember how much I miss having someone to care for, someone who means so much to me that making them happy would somehow be more than enough to make me happy. Today, I acknowledge that maybe, just maybe, there is someone out there who will make me want to remember all of these things and make me want to try. Someday.
But the day to try is not today. The day to try will not be tomorrow. That day will not be any time soon.
Maybe someday though; and that one thought is enough to take up all of my today. And tomorrow, this one thought will be gone, overthrown and consumed by all others. But right now, none of that matters. Because right now, I will stay in bed and eat too much. I will watch my musicals and get just enough done. I will curl up under my covers and listen to the rain.
And I will think, of things I would usually not dare think. Today, I will think.
(Source: aseaofquotes, via anikookie)
Someday, I will write about this at length. I will be strong enough to say the things I’ve denied for so long. Someday, I will be proud of my bruises and wounds and scars. I will be able to say, “This is the biggest regret of my life, that I am coward, that I did not, could not fight for what I loved.”
Being (almost but not quite) involved in theater again, being around it — a note along its margins, floating about in its same orbit — it feels so, almost too close to being around an old love you are well aware can and will never be yours again. I would say, don’t do it. But that’d be futile, meaningless. As anyone who has been in that same situation knows. This limited existence, it’s more difficult than its complete absence — but the romance, the passion of it all, for it all, it keeps me around.
Lately, I’ve felt all these thing bubbling up and bouncing around inside me. Desperately clawing its way out, and boiling over from out of my soul and into my tangible reality.
Because at the end of the day, I’ve come to realize this one thing: Theater reminds me, not of the person I want to be, but of the person I like being.
Maybe someday, you’ll realize that. And if or when that day comes, you’ll finally understand how much you’ve hurt me.
