I am tired.
I feel a pile of things I need to do always just sort of lingering by me at all times.
Most of it is things I’ve set myself up for. I don’t think I’m complaining. It doesn’t feel like I’m complaining.
The move feels very, terrifyingly close. But so far away.
I don’t know what I’m going to wear when I leave.
I don’t know what more to do right now.
I should go to bed.
I’m afraid. I’m scared.
I feel very alone.
I feel sad.
Hopeful and sad.
Excited and sad.
It’s the right move. I want this.
At least, I want this the most.
More than other things.
Why am I a procrastinator all of a sudden?
It’s like nothing orders itself in my mind anymore. Nothing plans itself out. There are no check boxes.
It’s like fuzzy chaos.
It’s like I’m staring straight ahead at a tsunami of a crowd, of pandemonium, but I can’t focus on anything.
Everywhere is my periphery.
I think I had a super power before.
I think it’s the stress getting to me.
The guilt and sadness and stress.
Tense, I feel tense. I feel like piano wire. I feel like violin strings. No, one violin string. The thinnest.
I keep making a lot of tiny mistakes.
I keep saying things and I wonder why I can’t just stay quiet.
I’m good at observing, I should just observe more.
I shouldn’t stay quiet, that’s an odd thing to think. No one should.
I think maybe I should just not speak unless I have a real question or fully understand the subject being discussed.
I’m so afraid all the time of looking dumb, and yet I seem to set myself up for it.
It’s a silly thing to be afraid of.
I shouldn’t be afraid of that.
I’ll forget to be afraid of it, anyway.
I want to be unafraid of asking stupid questions.
Why is it so hard for me to get back to people now?
I’m intimidated by responses, I’m afraid of sounding like I don’t care.
I ramble so much.
I tell unnecessary stories.
Maybe they do like them, but I shouldn’t really be taking that risk that they get bored with them.
I wonder how often I’m someone who is simply tolerated.
They can tell I’m too young,
Too green, too empty-headed.
It feels like I make a lot of people feel inferior, at least a few.
When I’m not known very well folks get the impression that I’m brighter than I am.
That I’m more capable than I am.
And I’m torn between wanting to keep their perception strong and make myself think a little that they’re right. And being so freakishly sincere that they feel a bit higher than me.
Everything is silly to worry about.
Some tiny thing in the grand scheme.
I’m okay, and everything will be okay.
I’m going to throw wide the door, and do things I love. And I will make things.
Just a bit tired.