Maybe someday, I'll get my shit together. Get focused, get confident. I've taken to long walks late at night, calling someone, and crying for no reason until I'm too tired to walk back home. But I look forward to those walks. I look forward to nights when I have too much to do, and I don't do any of it. I've got all the time in the world, and I use to do absolutely nothing productive.
My father told me the other day that nothing I have was given to me. That I'd earned every good grade, every scholarship, every shot out of this shithole. I fought him tooth and nail, demanding that the Universe had simply aligned at all the right times. He told me that couldn't possibly be true. Why would the Universe single me out? I jumped up, crying, telling him that he's got it right! That's why I'm so scared of everything. One day, the Universe will cease to care about me, and I'm going to be so screwed.
Confidence. That's what he told me. I need to understand that I work for what I have. I suppose I understand that, but I think it's more 1/2 my work, 3/4 everything working out. My limited abilities can only take me so far, right?
I went upstairs, texted my boys, and sunk onto the unmade mess that impersonated my bed. It was late, and I had work in the morning, but I didn't care. I sat there, watching my phone light up with unread texts, and woke 5 hours later to my brother bursting unwelcomed into my bedroom.
The name is Nik.
"Then, all of a sudden, something very spooky started happening. Every time I came to the end of a block and stepped off the goddam curb, I had this feeling that I’d never get to the other side of the street. I thought I’d just go down, down, down, and nobody’d ever see me again."
-Holden Caulfield, The Catcher in the Rye
Maybe someday, I'll get my shit together. Get focused, get confident. I've taken to long walks late at night, calling someone, and crying for no reason until I'm too tired to walk back home. But I look forward to those walks. I look forward to nights when I have too much to do, and I don't do any of it. I've got all the time in the world, and I use to do absolutely nothing productive.
My father told me the other day that nothing I have was given to me. That I'd earned every good grade, every scholarship, every shot out of this shithole. I fought him tooth and nail, demanding that the Universe had simply aligned at all the right times. He told me that couldn't possibly be true. Why would the Universe single me out? I jumped up, crying, telling him that he's got it right! That's why I'm so scared of everything. One day, the Universe will cease to care about me, and I'm going to be so screwed.
Confidence. That's what he told me. I need to understand that I work for what I have. I suppose I understand that, but I think it's more 1/2 my work, 3/4 everything working out. My limited abilities can only take me so far, right?
I went upstairs, texted my boys, and sunk onto the unmade mess that impersonated my bed. It was late, and I had work in the morning, but I didn't care. I sat there, watching my phone light up with unread texts, and woke 5 hours later to my brother bursting unwelcomed into my bedroom.
