This will be epic, dear.
I am sitting here waiting for Mr. Branden Kret to come pick me up from my house, because I am very lazy at the moment, and I take pleasure in making him go out of his way to hang out with me. Maybe I have a control problem. Or I’m just a jerk. It’s all outta love.
These past few days have been a blur, each one a drop in the hourglass counting down my eventual boarding of a Continental Airlines plane delivering me to Rome, Italy. I know I have said this before, in some prior blog post on some blog I probably did for a week and then forgot about, but Sour Lake (and by extension, Beaumont) does not feel like home to me anymore.
I don’t belong here. Maybe I never did. In some part of me, I think I have always felt that way, but I probably just figured it was me being emotional and angsty. But whenever I am here… in this room, in this house, in this town… I want to scream. I want to violently run around, yelling until my throat is searing with pain, asking everyone why they are simply existing.
Of course, I know why. It’s easy. It’s comfortable. It doesn’t require any input, or effort. It makes me jealous and angry at the same time. I could easily be one of them, and I’m pretty confident that for years, I was.
But once you leave, you cannot return. Not easily anyway. I’ve changed a lot in this past year. My sophomore year of college will be one I will always remember.
But you see, I have a secret. A terribly exciting, and at the same time, saddening, secret.
On May 30th, I am getting on a plane. On May 30th, I leave this world. But not all of me is going. When the plane takes off, it begins. I will be ripped in half. I will be in pieces. And when I come back, I will be quickly patched together, a flurry of glue and tape and smiles and tears, only to have it happen six days later, all over again.
July 16th. I’m crazy, dear. Do you hear me? I’m off my rocker.
But I wouldn’t have it any other way. This will be epic. This will hurt like hell. This… it’s worth it.