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.

Here's A List

• I just wish
• I was doing something
• More important
• With my life

Pause

You must know by now that because you've taken her, she needs you.
She waits on you.

I know you're looking for the same to come from where you once had been.  I know you're taking your time and being reckless.  Maybe you're killing time.  Maybe you're bored.

I know you're disinterested.
But I depend on you.

Unseen voices will come undone, and lower me down into my shallow grave.  Taunting me into the comatose fate I knew I'd always have.  Separated and detached, just like I always allowed myself to be.

If I wanted to, could I ever be more than what I've resigned myself to be?  There's so much still that I haven't known.  So much that I only think about when no one's listening.  They are the secret revelations I keep between me and the window well.

Romance never was my only option.  Yet it's the only thing that seems to make a difference anymore.

Will there be a way out for me, if I so desire one?
Or will it be too late?

Happily Ever After

I've been thinking about this a lot lately, because my whole life I've bombarded my mind with images of princes and princesses and divine intervention and Meg Ryan seeing Tom Hanks at the top of the Empire State Building and all those gloriously inglorious musings of regular people at long tables.

They are people who don't realize what they do.  They don't know that somewhere some 12 year old girl will see their story on television and think that her future husband will run to her in an airport and tell her that he was wrong, he does want three kids and a dog and a small house in Vienna.  And he doesn't care about her insensibilities and her selfish desire to spend all day in bed with morning breath.  He doesn't want someone skinny and white, he wants the patchy yellow skinned, bent nose, chubby thighed mistake that she is.  He wants her mood swings and her high pitched chipmunk impersonations.  Her messy desk and her terrible cooking.  

No, I think I have it all figured out.  He won't see me at a party and fall in love with me from across the room, he will instead fail to notice me as I make up the rest of our lives together.  Because we are not strings being sewn into masterpieces for the gods, we are merely just wandering around and waiting for our number to be called.  And we can wait, or we can leave.  But no one will do it for you.  

Well, I'd rather be a part of something much more selfish.

Because I am abnormal and also unwanted.

So here's to John Cusack's boom box and Ducky at the prom.  Here's to Molly Ringwald's red hair, and that scene at the end where they meet each other on the ice and just know.  To the leading ladies and to their less attractive best friends, who usually end up having sex with the creepy guy.  Here's to immaculate commitment.  Here's to the end.

All I used to think about was the day he'd sweep me off my feet.  But now I'm just hoping he doesn't hit.

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.

Thanks For Listening

I'm sorry it wasn't good enough.

But tomorrow, we'll make our beds and wipe off the counter tops as if nothing has ever happened.
And we'll ignore the constant clicking of our bedside worries.
And our arms will brush aimlessly against the next,

in a detached
and passive way.

And our mothers will cry
and our best friends will not.

And the red light bulb will flash, and we will weep for the memories that eat at our hands.

I will miss your stories and your kindness, and the way you slur your words when you're tired.  I will miss Paris, and the lights.  And the old man who counts the number of people that pass every hour.

I'm sorry this wasn't good enough.  The paths of reality and desire run parallel to each other, but sadly they do not cross.  And that's not anywhere near the apology you deserve, but I don't have a better one to offer.  So this one will have to suffice.

I'm sorry I can't fix you.

I guess I just can't equate.