I feel infinite.

And for a brief second there while walking home, I felt invincible. It’s a weird feeling to have when you’re so young, but it’s something that I’ve been told by ever adult I’ve ever known. 

Teenagers think that they are immune to everything.

And it’s true. We think that we can live through the cancers and the apocalypses completely unscathed. We think when the moment comes we’ll be able to fend for ourselves without the help of friends or family. We think that when a car comes speeding towards us we’ll be able to flip it over and walk away without even a scratch.
The problem with immortality is, it doesn’t exist. We walk home completely drunk, tumbling and stumbling over words and snowbanks and leave nothing behind except for our foot steps and maybe a dent in the ditch from where we passed out in the freezing cold. 
And it is in this moment that mortality, the nearness of the end, hits us in the not-so-frost-bitten ego and sets us in a home-like place in our minds. It tells us that there really is nothing more to life than this. Drinking, working, sleeping, friends, family, misunderstandings, “communication”, big TVs, warm homes, a comfy boyfriend, few moments of weakness, government, but not really government, knowledge but not wisdom and all the little, insignificant things in between. This is all that life is. 
I don’t think it’s a bad thing. It’s just a real thing. It’s life. It’s a fragile and easily tampered with life.

Give me my journal back Kayla.

//

I asked my friend a question today: Do you want to be in high school still when the world ends?

It applies to her and to me. I’m a bit of a slacker, and it’s not even as if I’m unaware of that fact. There’s a lot that I wish I could have done, that I should have done/should do that I am going to regret not doing if I die this year. 

What’s the likelihood of the world ending? 1:3? 1:500? 1:6 000 000 000? 
How do people who have never actually experienced this kind of thing before go about predicting the chances of it happening?
I was 6 when Y2K was upon us.  I don’t even remember Y2K. I remember sleeping through the night, maybe? I was living in an apartment, possibly. I’m almost positive I woke up the next morning and watched a Charlie’s Angel’s New Years Special…
That was my routine when I was 7. Sleep, Charlie’s Angel’s, daycare, school, sleep… etc. My routine today is not very unlike that when I was younger. Sleep, Mentalist, best friend’s, work, sleep… etc. School on the odd day. Maybe.
This is part of what frustrates me. I understand that life is routine and life is reliability and predictability and safety nets. I get it. And for the most part, I cannot complain. I have it pretty damned good right now. But on the other hand, I could have it better. I could have more. (By more I don’t mean GIVEMETHINGSNOW) I could be happy. Or happier.
When it’s 12/21/2012, I won’t be here. I won’t be in my home town with the people I’ve loved and lost and won’t forget until the day I die. I won’t have my baby boy, I won’t hold my sister, and I won’t say goodbye to my mother. I’ll be away and grateful for every opportunity ever given to me. Even though I’ve never really… Taken advantage of those. 
But hey, on the plus side, if smoking doesn’t get me, 2012 will.  

Snow. I was watching the news, and a woman started to complain about a white Halloween. Apparently she has never had one before in her whole long life. Which actually surprised me because I’ve been waiting for the snow to fall. Every year it’s different, and I hope that I don’t jinx it or anything.
I remember getting dressed up as cows and pumpkins and ninja turtles (Raphael bitches!) and then having to cover up all of my hard work and turtle shells just to make it through the ends blocks of snowy sidewalks and driveways.
I don’t like winter. I don’t like endless amounts of cold. But I cannot wait to walk on frozen rivers, go skating, sit in front of the fire place, drink hot chocolate and see the first snow fall.
I can’t wait to be cold.

Work is Work

Woah. You’re that chick from McDonald’s.

That’s correct. I am that chick from McDonald’s. Formerly known as That Chick. I guess that’s cool. It’s not like I have a name or anything. (Michelle.) S’all good.

Now I am working full time overnights at a job I don’t exactly mind too much. And therein lies the problem. When you grow to accept things as they are, they grow to get used to being that way. And then they never ever ever change.

And then you’re stuck.

You’re stuck in a full time, 40 hour a week, 11 P.M. to 7 A.M., fast-food job where no body wants you to tell them your name, you work, breathe and sleep in a smell that you can’t escape and your social life slowly, but surely dissipates into nothing. And it never ever changes. Ever.

Then one day someone new gets your shifts, just because they wanted to try it out. They get them and you throw a temper tantrum because they’re YOUR shifts and you want them and no one else can have them because they’re yours… etc. You see the next week, and hey, look at that. They got your shifts again. Then you quit without notice, never go into your full time, 40 hour a week, 11 P.M. to 7 A.M., fast food job where nobody cares.

I haven’t gotten to that part of my job yet, but someone else did, and that’s why I have it.

It’s really not that big a deal right? Money is money, right? It’s just Sunday-Thursday every week…. Right? This is the beginning of a very new way of living for me.

So-long to Summers where I just didn’t give a fuck. I just didn’t need to. Good by social life and bar hopping and most awesome “YesSummer” ever. It’s okay, really. Money is money. Right.