This Is Not A Test

High-fives are never fully satisfying. It's uncomfortable for the person giving it, the person receiving it, and the third party that's watching it. And it's never the correct expression.

short just like your temper

There is a kid named Gideon in my Social Foundations class. The stuff that comes out of his mouth is the only reason I go to class. He says things I could never have the guts to raise my own hand to say, cause when I say it, it'll be wrong. But he's never wrong. One day, I will go up to him and ask him if he wants to get a cup of coffee and we'll talk into the night about Machiavelli and Descartes. Sometimes he'll be right. Sometimes I'll be right. We won't even realize that they're closing. Then I'll ask if I could read that one story he wrote, the one that everyone won't stop talking about, the one titled, "How To Fall Too Hard."

Today, I tried to be nice to someone that I've been kind of mean too. I didn't last very long. Sometimes, you think I'm bulletproof, but I'm not.

To Whom It May Concern

It still counts even though it happened when he was unconscious. It counts doubly because the conscious mind often makes mistakes, falls for the wrong person.

When the Good Guys Win

My entire life has been about a never ending series of too-good-to-be-true's that always ended in being well, too good to be true. It has been about crossing my fingers and sweating balls that maybe this time it won't be so evanescent. It has been about making inside jokes so insidious that sometimes, only I get it. It has been about belittling other people's problems and anticipating the day when we can only laugh about them.

It has been about making mistakes, some greater than others, and not coming out a better person.

It has been about sonatas and slurpees and Sams and shitheads that inadvertently, presently, have nothing to do with the letter "s" in Sarah. Cause that letter "s" has to do with the letter "v" and the letter "m," sometimes the letter "p," frequently the letter "j," and always the number 6. It has been about obesity, homosexuality, and mothballs. Again, with the inside jokes.

It has been about celebrating 80 degree weather in shorts, only to be betrayed by the 30 degree drop that night. It has been about the ones that mattered being the shortest, and the ones most serious being unofficial. It has been about being second best. It has been about falling into Cowardice, Jealousy, Pride, or a combination of all three, without a fight. It has always been about shotgun.

It has been about trying to sound relevant.

It has been about Franny and Zooey and Gob and Descartes, Quentin, Dreyer, Rowland, Johnson & Johnson. It has been about stickers on "A" papers and falling asleep in the backyard before the meteor shower. It has been about other people's love stories. It has been about falling for the guitar, taking advantage of the piano, and unconditional lovers on the drums. It has been about being too focused on the alarm. It has been about being afraid of skirts until I was forced into wearing them everyday for four years. It has been about fry trays that haven't been filled to the top and other disappointments. It has been about Flag Day. It has been about the secrets unrevealed in a long car ride, flavor-of-the-weeks, and bottom lockers. It has been about molding into other people's lingo, making up words that sound real, and bad grammar.

It has been about falling too hard.

The Science of Sleep

I often have these vibrant and vivid dreams of people that I have never formally met, or have for a very short time. These dreams make up 99% of my judgement of the person, depending on whether the person saved my life from a Nazi-turned foe or threw oranges at me while it was raining outside. So very frequently I'll wake up extremely annoyed at Mich for hitting on my boyfriend, Adam or angry at Alice for eating my pillow. And these sensations usually spill over to real life and I will be eternally pissed at (insert name here). This makes life rather difficult.

"Stop it, I feel naked."

Here's to a night of anti-love songs, anonymity, hormones, unedited conversations, naivety, being blunt, naivety, being curious, being let down.

In my heart will always be the five of us, stripped.
The cute one, the pretty one, the one that's going to hit it big, the one that already fucked up. The one that had spread rumors about me, the one I had spreaded rumors about; the one I knew from back home, the one that until yesterday, I had forbade myself to grow any type of emotional attachment to, the one that I thought could never happen. The one that knew all my secrets, the one that I loved, the one that would plan my wedding.

I've already judged everyone within the first hour by what shoes they're wearing, the way they touch their eyebrows, what they're doing with the empty cups.

The girl next to me is folding a gum wrapper into halves until it becomes impossible.

And I'm thinking maybe I said more than I wanted to, more than I should've. I'm thinking the conversations will be repeated elsewhere. She'll make up the parts that she can't remember. Apologies for the disappointment, but you taught me all about that. Swears of secrecy are always a phony. They would agree with me--but sometimes it doesn't hit until after being sober from the rush. Cause for that small while, there's something flaming through our bloodstream, and our own conscience don't feel like ours. There's an untraceable hole somewhere in our already punctured hearts that's uncontrollably leaking insecurities and passwords. But these hearts were meant to pour, and these ears were meant to listen.

Alicia Keys is playing on the highest volume but no one will hear cause someone's left the earphones plugged in.

One of us is thinking about her most recently failed relationship. One of us is thinking about the relationships yet to come. One of us is thinking it's getting late. But all of us are thinking about home. One of us is thinking about her ex. One of us is thinking about the other friend that should've been there. One of us is hungry. One of us is angry. One of us is in love.

A fine frenzy.

Desperately and honestly trying to regain the trust-- regain. Over-analyzing, over-exaggerating, contradicting, arguing, overdosed on that evanescent variable unknown that deceived all of us to be eternally everlasting.

So twisted and so absurd. So much time already wasted.

Epilogue:
And they'll never know how paranoid they made us, how fucked up we got because of them, how much they messed with us, how difficult it is without the romances of living. It annoys me to give them even that much credit. We vow never to make the same mistakes that they did. We conclude that they aren't larger than life, not anymore. We praise God and part.

A solemn inside joke.