bai bai bai~

My short term goal is a fun summer filled with side-walk chalk, butter-fly raising, clementines, donut burgers and lazy reading.

I realize now that I've been struggling with the idea of growing up this past year entirely too much in lieu of the realization that twenty is on the brink of true adult-hood. Not only that, but I've also become egocentric in my solidarity. As much as I think people generally suck, it's not like I'm a different species or anything. I'm not above the quota, I'm just the same and I probably depress just as many people with my thoughtless action. To think you are any better and wonder why people act the way they do is haughty and just because you realize how fucked up, mass-produced, bereft of individual thought and idiotic people are, doesn't mean you probably aren't just like them in some way or form. Even the yummiest apple is still an apple. Wish I was a chimpanzee instead >_<.

Cause growing up right now is like having my delicate bundle of dreams ripped apart at the edges with such rancor I want to cry.

The reality of life today is so contradictory to the plans I had when I was younger for the future Teressa. Honestly the best, most fantastic thing I could possibly imagine might happen today, tomorrow, even ten years from now (cure cancer? become a famous world reknowned writer? Travel the entire world and even space? ect ect)--it doesn't even compare to the most ill conceived fantasy dreams of a seven year old girl. Ha. So...yeah. That's what I miss most about being younger and why I hate this whole aging and moving forward thing. That hope contingent with youth and lack of longevity is kind of leaving, you know ? That idea that anything was reachable and my life still hadn't unfurled yet but when it did, it would be great. That uplifting injection of excitement and anticipation that all beginnings can be characterized with, the knowledge that although life seemed mundane, it would soon pip up with alacrity and some perfectly scripted adventure that had already been especially written for me. Although, here I am. Twenty. A bit lethargic but for all observable purposes, normal. Living a life as complacent and cozy as any other twenty year old in the gray suburbs of Long Island. Probably taking the whole path of least resistance and on my way to own another little gray chunk of land, a blue collar job, a dog and a tv and a kid and that will be my less than optimal life.

I'm flailing around here, gasping for air and escape from this suffocating sub par story.

Wait, no. Sub par is a bit harsh don't you think hmmmmm

Actually, I can't particularly complain. The weather is getting nicer. Everyone I love is still alive. I'm not leathered or wrinkled yet and my bed today is very soft and warm. I especially like the sheets and my room smells distinctly of birds which I also love. I like that I'm building sensory smells that will later remind me of this room and then this time that I'm writing. And while I'm not in a magical house like Howl's with secret doorways to gardens nor do I own a mystery cupboard that breathes life into every inanimate object I own, I can say...in some abstract form of the word, I'm happy. I believe I am happy and I am here and for now that's good enough.