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Time, Time, Time
"Mock Origami" by Matthew and the Arrogant Sea [this song is beautiful, oh]
April 25, 2015 Saturday 6:20 PM
Just a minute, I swear I had thoughts.
Things are very pretty. I'm wearing a horribly ugly shirt that my grandma bought me for my 16th birthday, which was two days ago. I am sitting at the computer, thinking about where I was sitting two hours ago (Chipotle Bar & Grill) and thinking about how one day can last forever and still, nothing gets done.
I'm thinking about how, if I go the same way she did, I'm destined to stop being here in twenty one days (minus two, so I guess nineteen??). Or maybe twenty two (twenty??). That doesn't stick in my mind. Her birthday does. I sit in the car sometimes, the backseat, and force myself to put on the seatbelt. It was never that hard before. I guess I'm just curious. Or maybe I don't like the belt all up by my neck, which is a pretty sensitive area on my body. It makes me feel like I'm choking. Trapped.
I asked my dad if he thinks about what will happen when there is nothing and he said to me, "I reject that idea." or something of the sort. I replied, "Explain."
He said, "There is always something, there is never nothing." And of course, I know this. I used to lie awake at night, on the edge of sleep, before I heard voices outside the window, and I'd think about that very thing. This was between childhood and middle school. This was when my brain was beginning to rewire itself. This was before I felt real.
"I meant," I said, "Do you ever think about how depressing it is that one day, nothing that is here NOW will exist?"
He didn't give me a straightforward answer right there, just acknowledged that what I said was true. We talked about nothing. The subject of nothing is actually quite rich. I could probably spend hours talking about it.
"Space is the closest I can think of to nothing."
Me, "But isn't it made up of dark matter or something???"
And the conversation got a little confusing and is pretty murky in my memory.
I thought about Elise. I thought about her in a very detached way, the way I'm getting used to thinking about her.
It stresses me out.
Other times, I feel a bit more. Mostly frustration. Frustration that she just *poof* was gone. Like that. And everything continued. There was no sudden pause, no break in my step. I hit the ground running and never even knew. Logically, I am aware that when someone dies, nothing changes. Still. It makes my lungs get all tight when I think about it. Think about how no one around here cared. Think about how she's already fading. God, it kills me.
I feel like the whole world should have mourned.
"What's that god particle called?"
I said, "Quark?" It was a wild guess.
Bit of a harry potter reference there. My dad and I really enjoy those kinds of things.
"The universe is shaped exactly like the Earth, if you go straight along you'll end up right back where you were."
That was a Modest Mouse lyric, Third Planet.
Even without something rubbing uncomfortably against my neck, I still kind of feel like I'm choking.
That's what I want to do: keep going in one direction forever. Close my eyes so I don't have to ponder eleven dimensions. Maybe I can pretend I am a line, just a line, we are all a line, this line, a line line line.
"We should build telescopes according to ability, not budget," is what I said to my dad.
"A telescope the size of Earth?"
"I think we lack the ability."
"We should hollow out one side of the moon, turn it into a telescope," is how he later replied, after all this mumbo jumbo about bombing the floor of the pacific and turning THAT into a telescope or whatever.
We left Chipotle. I wasn't really hungry but I ate anyway because my tummy was complaining.
I want to flay myself. I don't understand that urge. It's not supposed to make sense, I suppose. I mean, I AM kind of crazy. I like that, though.
Still, I better hope that I can keep running, running, running (even though I can't fucking breathe) because if I stop, it'll be torture to start again and if I stop, I might have time to grab a knife and just start taking off all the layers.
Breathe (your lungs are too full already). Breathe (your body isn't responding). Breathe (where are we going, again?).
Other people don't seem to understand my loathing of time itself. It just keeps its pace, keeps its pace, and I hate that. Sometimes I need to slow down, sometimes I need to speed up, but I am trapped in this horrible, steady thing and I can't move.
And you, if you stop, if you give up, if you reject time, it only makes things worse. If time weren't here, slowing down, giving yourself a break would be fine. It would be fine. But oh man, it runs you over. And then it backs up and runs you over AGAIN.
I'M SO MAD. UGH. I HATE IT, I HATE IT, I HATE IT (never mind the fact that I sound like a six year old throwing a tantrum).
That doesn't even feel like the truth.
Nothing ever feels like the truth.
And now, now is when I need it to stop. When I need assistance, I need you to turn off the lights, push back the deadlines, and just let me be dead for awhile because you know it only feels worse when you don't have the fucking time, the fucking option, to stop smiling. You know the moment you falter, everything will just slap you in the face and then tell you it's your own damn fault.
Mr. Sandwich is in my head saying, "I just don't understand why she did it." (referring to his sister's suicide)
Me, thinking, "I get it. She was tired. I can't blame her. This is exhausting."
I would never do the same as she did. I don't think I'm at that point. But I do understand.
hit the ground running, hit the ground running, hit the ground running
"no, honey, you need to let yourself get better."
I listened to them, I let myself slow down. I stopped thinking about the outside world and it's imperfections.
Then, I went back out there, all prepared and they said, "hit the ground running, hit the ground running"
Like recovery is instantaneous, like the tools they gave me would last forever. Maybe they just trusted that I wouldn't want to fall behind again.
I have a weak body, an imperfect brain. It sees things that they can't see
I said to my dad, "Sometimes, I feel like I wouldn't miss you if you were gone. In reality, I know that I would, but... I just feel like I would forget you guys. I would forget your personality and the things you like. I wouldn't be able to know exactly how you'd feel about certain things. It would feel like nothing if you were gone. Again, I know that if that were to happen, I really would miss you, but thinking about it... I just always get the feeling that you were never here."
"Isn't that kind of a contradiction?" is how he replied.
Hit the ground running, hit the ground running, hit the ground running, hit the ground running