Goodbai Utah

Sorry for the long post.  If you don't want to read the whole thing, this is the summary:
This summer sucked but also didn't.  I love my friends.  I'm moving to Florida to work at Disney World.  I'm going to keep writing but probably not often.  Goodbye, I love you.

If you're reading this, I am already gone.  My summer ends a little bit earlier than I wanted it to this year.

I'm moving to Florida.

I'm going to work at Disney World.  I'm going to be stuck in a store.  I'm going to be hot and tired.  I'm going to be on my own.  I'm going to be a "real" adult.  I'm going to probably not blog very much.  I'm going to go out and make myself feel uncomfortable so other people don't think I'm depressed.  I'm doing this for myself, because I worry about my sanity.  I'm going because I want to.  And because I don't want to.  And because it's Disney World.  And because it's Florida.  And because someday there will come a time when I can't just pick up and move across the country and I don't want that day to come too soon.

I'm writing this because I'm almost 20 years old and I don't know how to fold a fitted sheet or do my own taxes, and those seem like things I should be able to do on my own by now.

I guess I'll figure it out.

I'm also saying goodbye to the people that I miss most.  Our legacies are written on the floorboards of the attic.  They'll be forgotten in the fire.  We'll be dust in a matter of seconds.  But I love you all.  And if I never see any of you again, thanks for being golden.

This summer was long and dull.  I worked full time.  I saw friends when I could.  I did something horrible.  And I didn't exercise at all.  I made out.  I became a new person, and somehow stayed exactly the same.  I watched a lot of TV.  And I ate a lot of food.

But it had its moments.  When Jonah and I blew all our money doing pointless things and then complained about blowing all our money on pointless things.  When Aubrey and I sat on her roof and watched the entire valley light up.  When Austin held me and told me about how he fell in love with a girl who vanished one day.  When we went to Fong's and didn't talk at all.  When Sarah showed me her movie collection.  When Aubrey and I both got food poisoning and spent a whole weekend in bed because of it.  When Shay and I drank pink milk and talked about preschool and being sorry.

And as the construction workers tear down the Haunted Forest and start building that car dealership, I'm waving goodbye to him and wishing him a great semester, and it just feels so over.

And just like that, the only place we've ever had all to ourselves belongs to someone else.

These days are gone, and they are golden.  They are wrapped in tin foil and packaged nicely in yearbooks and H.A.G.S. and Facebook posts that we thought were oh so clever.  These days are finally finally over.  And I will miss Austin's old man sense of humor and his folk music.  I will miss Aubrey's giant notebook full of songs we wanted to learn.  I will miss Cosette's awkward way of cheering me up.  I will miss the way Lex could figure out your whole deal in five minutes.  I will miss Creative Writing.  I will miss Michael who is now a douche even though I DISCOVERED HIM.  I will miss Griffin Kerr's blog.  I will miss Brynn's blog too.  I will miss that brown couch in Jonah's basement.   I will miss Baylee's awesome fashion sense and sassy comebacks.  I will miss Jeff's girl problems.  I will miss Asher's ease.  I will miss Lauren's conversation.  I will miss playing music.  And writing music.  And I will miss the optimistic, innocent, and ambitious girl I was.

I will miss it all.  Until one day I won't anymore.  

Life is unpredictable.  Even when you have a plane ticket and an appointment.  Even when the email gives you clear instructions on what to do when you arrive.  We are experiments.  We are fearful and blind and passionate.  We are each broken in our own beautiful way, and we are strong because of it.  We are love, and we are war, and we are hunger.  We are children.  And I love you, and all that you think you are or hope to be or will be someday.  Because you are you, and I am me, and we are one.

I don't know what I'm doing or where I'm going, but I think I'll be alright.

Don't forget me.

Comrades

*Disclaimer: This isn't about any one person.  It's about all of us.*

Half empty, half full,

we're starting over.

I wrote you a letter called Comrades In October.  It doesn't make a lot of sense and goes on for longer than it needed to be.  I talked a lot about Pulp Fiction and it got a bit accusatory of Israel.  But I meant well.

Things never really turn out right.  Or at least not how we want them to.

I wanted a lot more than what you gave me.  The minimalist approach to human interaction, the half-hearted blow off.  When it was slow, it was alcohol you turned to.  The feeling that whatever you did didn't count or mean anything turned you on.  You were invincible.

But you didn't even recognize me at midnight when I left.  Telling you I was just a phone call away and you turned the other way and said you really hate the way I look at you when you're drunk.

"I need to get my life together, don't I?"

We're always starting over.  A big hug and an empty bottle.  You'll get your life together maybe if you want to.  But until then, I'll paint you a picture of a girl who is trying to not let herself love you any more than she already does.

But we'll always have October.  And you'll always be that one who sang me songs and cared about my stupid crushes.  You were there from the beginning, when all we needed was our tree.  Our tree, our music, and our wasted teenage lives.

I'm starting over.

Give Out

Oh dear.

I think I've done it again.

I tried so hard to be better, because I knew that better means happier.  I knew that perfect means success.  The closer I get to it, though, the more I realize how similar it feels to normal.  The longer you look at me, the more I want to leave.  The harder you try, the more I dislike myself.

I don't know what it is.  A combination of bad self image and the stomach flu, maybe.  Or misguided passive aggression.  Cuban cigars that smell bad, but are passed around like the neighborhood harlot.

Oh dear.

I was expecting it to be much harder to figure out, but it was as easy as stepping off the roof.

One step is too far, but three steps and I'm flying.

One day, I'm going to look back and know that no one will ever really understand what this all means to me.  No one will hear that song the way I do.  They won't care about the tree.  They don't get it.  How nothing really happened there, but that's why it is so unmistakably pristine.  That's why I can't love you.  Because of that tree, which means so much because it meant nothing.

Well yeah, a year from now, I know we'll all be in different cities.  Missing each others' calls and avoiding chance encounters in the supermarket.  If there are even supermarkets anymore.  Maybe we'll just be downloading virtual carbs from our super iPads or something.

This isn't what I wanted to talk about.

I wanted to talk about making out and not liking it.  I wanted to talk about not the first guy, but the fourth.  The one who actually made an effort to not be an idiot.  I wanted to talk about slow music and perfect moments that were ruined by a never-ending girl brain, but instead I think this is all about missing you.  Even though you haven't left yet.

Because I know that alcohol is promising and cigarettes are your mistress.  I know that your one true love is the back of your jet black motorcycle, and that I am someone who stands with both feet firmly on the ground.  Too afraid to do anything bad.  Watching you suffocate yourself because being young and free and careless is your only wile.  Because we are supposed to mess up right now.  Because that's what being alive means.

I miss you already, and oh dear.  I think I've done it again.

In my own way, I'm trying to tell you goodbye.  Because we used to talk about never growing apart, but I think it's about to happen soon.

I Let It Go

"What are your plans, then?"

"I don’t know."

"Whatever happened with that arts school?"

"I got in...

I’m not going, though."

"Why not?"

"It's cheaper to stay here."

"That's true."

"Chicago will still be there.

I can wait."

I never figured out how to participate in class.

I plan everything I say two days before I say it.

He didn't want to talk to me after we kissed.

I laugh when I should cry, and I cry when I should smile.

Only three people remembered my birthday last year.

The cute boy in my film class didn't sit by me this week.

My older sister once told me that she didn't like me until I stopped being ugly.

My dad still hasn't gotten a job after all these years.

One day he took me to dinner and when he went to pay, he realized he didn't have enough.

"I got it, dad.  Don't worry."

I can't use a curling iron.

He didn't love me back.

I got bad grades last semester.

I go out of my way to avoid talking to people I want to talk to.

I'll probably never be a movie director.

He hated my favorite song.

We'll never move out of my grandparents' house.

What if I never meet Tina Fey?

Or what if I do, and she doesn't like me?

I don't want to get married.

I don't want kids.

I don't want to be happy.

I don't even think I'd let myself.

I jut want to eat food forever.

I hate my nose all the time.

Marla West once said it was beautiful, and I laughed at her for saying so.

I will never be charismatic.

I'm not fun enough at parties.

Or sexy enough to be liked.

Or really anything at all.
I spend a lot of time trying to be someone other than myself.
And I think about it way too much.


I realize that none of it matters.
We'll all be dead soon, anyways.
I'm going to be just fine.

I took a deep breath, and I let it go.

I let it all go.

All About Gardening (This Is Not About Gardening)

"Sometimes I feel like something is missing, like my backpack or a shoe, then I realize my spirit is just hungry.  So I pray, and I feel better." 

--Haley, an 8 year old.

I used to sit with her on my lap, and I'd tell her about July and the way it feels when someone wants to ride the tilt-a-whirl with you.  I'd tell her it's strange, but also the best feeling.

She used to ask me about high school and what boys think of girls who wear braids.  She used to tell me that my stories made her want to grow up.  And that being a kid wasn't as fun as being ready.

If I could look Haley in the eyes and say one thing to her right now, I'd say that you'll never really be ready.

I wish I could tell you what it's like to leave.  But I can't.  It's a strange mixture of hope and relentless fear, a distorted beauty, a fractured expectation.  It's lonely, but also endlessly crowded, and there are people who will want you to fail.  And people who will want you to succeed.  And people who really just don't care about any of it.  There are no bedtimes and no dietary restrictions.  There are no punishments.  And no rewards.  You feel twelve, you look 20, and you act like both.  You have to make your own phone calls to the DMV and you don't have to go to the dentist anymore.  Except you probably have like, four cavities that need to be taken care of.

I used to be just like Haley.  I used to think I'd only be happy when I grew up.  But now I know that the only time I ever was happy was when I was a kid.  I'm torn between wanting change and feeling nostalgic for my past.  

Because I know things will never be the same.  

And I'll never be able to put my head on my mom's lap and tell her that I've never loved before, and that it sounds wonderful.  I'll never be able to undo what's been done.  But I know that somewhere out in the world there's a little eight year old girl wondering about love and beauty, and not hesitating to pray.  She's smarter than me, and bigger in heart.  

And I know that not all is lost.

The Letter I Threw Away

My dearest,

Something exciting ends today.  

The rocks and the salt and the sea and the fresh air end today.

Snow's falling down pretty quick now, and the fishermen are drawing their nets in.  I wonder where you're going for the holidays.

Something really upsetting starts today, and I can only imagine the worst.  These days were once my grace, so now I'm wondering where the mercy went.  

I'll meet you there someday,
Where the sea meets the sun.  

When the guns and the bible don't mean anything to no one. 

My dearest, something terrible will happen today, and I just wish you were here to see it.

Walking In High Heels And Not Tripping

I don't recognize a lot of things about my house anymore, not even the easy things like shapes and sounds.  And so many pieces of my room seem to be missing, like the bedside table.  I can't find the grainy surface beneath the unopened bank statements and illegible post-it notes.  Neither can I see the old nail polish stain on the carpet, or the dozens of tiny holes in the wall from countless attempts at filling that enclosing white space.  I feel sorry for doctors, and new homeowners.  The white space can drive you mad.

They expect me to not be so childish anymore.

"Come, Charlotte," they say, "tell us about how the enchiladas turned out.  Tell us about your choice of interesting fabric for these interesting pillows.  Tell us about how much fiber is in your cereal."

To which I'll reply, "Well, from time to time, I really enjoy a big bowl of Fruity Pebbles."

"Oh, I love Fiber One."

They're only waiting for their turn to talk.

What's worse is I cannot remember that beautiful phrase I came upon in that book I finished last week.  I wrote it down, and then accidentally set it on fire while trying to light a candle.  And when I search my mind for any recollection of it, I only come up with a list of the deposits I have yet to pay for my apartment, and all the things I still need to buy before I move out.

And the strangest part is:
The white space no longer bothers me.

"What a fine young woman you've become.
Such a fine woman."

What To Expect From Me For The Next Five Years:

-A lot of missed phone calls

-A lot of canceled weekend trips

-Short days

-Long nights

-Cookies (apologies)

-Music

-Half-finished craft projects

-3:00 am research papers

-Stained notebooks

-Unopened stationary

-About 4 really long hugs

-A lot of back aches

-Trash runs in the middle of the night

-Insecurity

-Carefully planned bedsheets

-Morning breath

-A half-present mind

-Paris themed walls

-Too many blog posts

-One sided conversations about how I think my legs are getting  really chubby

-No eye contact

-A box in my closet full of crap memories
-Matthew Broderick movie marathons

-Spice scented candles

-Unused ice skates

-An unfinished screenplay for a zombie movie

-A really long bucket list

-Exhausted use of the word awesome

-Fake laughing

-Awkward moments

-Ignored questions

-3200 used matches

-Hours of listening to classical music set to funky drum beats*

-Hipster jokes

-Glee: The Music - Volumes 2,3, and 5

-Duct tape pens

-Christmas sweaters

-Unwashed dishes
-Empty shelves
-Empty promises

*