And So It Goes

I'm sick of school. I'm so sick of ISIS and "That Section is CLOSED" in bold red print. I'm sick of Terhune, the PR Department chair, and I'm sick of him telling me there is nothing he can do and he can't help me out. And for those of you out of school and are now sitting there chuckling over my unfortunate situation, I'm sick of you too.
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Lets play catch-up. The past 12 days in 500 words or less. It's amazing how uninspiring, not to mention intimidating, a blank screen can be, but bare with me because I'm thinking I owe everyone still reading after more than a week of silence the courtesy of eeking out a few clever sentences.
There is currently, at this very moment, a show on television that makes my lonely little life seem less desperate and pitiful. The Bachelor, a show about a real, live single man sifting through twenty-five different women in order to find his bride and doing it all for the sake of entertainment, is making its debut on ABC. Good Lord, didn't we learn our lesson with Who Wants to Marry a Millionare?? I myself have made the decision not to date anyone until I move to Tennessee. Not seriously that is. And not that I have any offers, either, but I'm saying if the opportunity came knockin', I probably would chose not to answer the door. I mean how much sense does it make to involve yourself in a relationship in a town in which you have no intentions of staying after graduation? This is either a genius idea or a way to make the lack of any romantic relationship seem like my choice.
A few nights ago, under the flashy grin of the cheshire moon, I ran away. Not too far, no where exciting or even unfamiliar, but far enough to escape the glow of city lights and take in everything the night sky has to offer. It's amazing the glory you miss living in a bustling metropolis. Equally astounding, are the kind of revelations that come upon you after discovering that glory. Lying there, on the ground, shivering quietly, I wished for a few things: I wished that people weren't so stupid and so quick to jump to false conclusions, I wished for a new nose, I wished for a blanket, I wished for a clean apartment and a roommate to follow, I wished to lose fifteen pounds, I wished for world peace and for funny movies and for a prince on a white steed, and/or in a nice car, to come and whisk me away. I waited a moment or two for God to take notes, then got up, brushed off and drove back to town.
Have you ever looked at your reflection so long that the image of your face seems odd and unreal? That your mind takes a flying leap from its usual residence? Stretch that feeling over a week and a half and you might come close to what I have been living.
Clever or not, that's all you're going to get. I'm off to dream.
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When did this day fall to pieces? When did the glory pass away? Maybe it was around the same time God put up the "Out to Lunch" sign and left me to fight the demon on my shoulder. God and I have been incommunicado for a few months now and I'm scared. This is unlike any valley I have seen before and I'm unsure on where to begin climbing out. Days in this canyon are full of smiles and accomplishments and the choice to pitch my tent and stay awhile is tempting. At night, though, the monuments of the day turn into monstrous shadows and the emptiness of abandonment returns to haunt me. I think I might feel better if I were able to pray, but every part of me seems to have forgotten how. The warmth of God's presence has faded and it's terrifying to be on the dark side of His face. My insides are dead and I don't know how to bring them back to life.
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"I'd rather be dreaming than living, living's just too hard to do. It's chances not choices, noises not voices, a day's just a thing to get through. Living's just too hard to do. I'd rather be dreaming than talking, there's nothing to hear or to say. With ears covered, mouth closed, the world is opposed, nothing gets in or away. There's nothing to hear or to say. I'd rather be dreaming than thinking, thoughts are small comfort to me. Dreams might be pretend but at least dreams end, and I just can't stop thinking you see. Thoughts are small comfort to me. I'd rather be dreaming than sleeping. Just sleeping, you're just as well dead. In dreams I can fly, in dreams I don't die. That's why I lie here in this bed. Just sleeping, you're just as well dead. I'd rather be dreaming..."
~Loudon Wainwright III
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So here was the plan: Finish midterms while only sleeping four hours a night, pack up the suitcases, the cat and the car, drive two hours with a boom box as my passenger and only source of sanity, pull into the driveway of my parent's home, walk in the door with a hero's welcome, and spend the ensuing week at the beach with old friends and siblings waiting on me hand and foot.
Here's the reality: Finished midterms, didn't sleep at all, a two hour drive turned into two and a half because of Saturday traffic, the boom box's reception only picked up stations with music described as "warm", got home only to find that no one was there, no welcome at all, old friends and siblings are all still in school, and there's a nice cold front taking it's time through town bringing 30 degree temperatures and throwing the beach plan out the window.
It could be worse, I guess. I could still be in Gainesville.
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