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On (Never) Landing a Spaceship
"Star Position" by Marcellus Hall
If you're single
You can sleep in the star position, no one will learn
Of your heart condition, you can finally
Be freed up
You can put your feet up
So blow the scandal out on the cake
What was love now is an earthquake
Kick back and take many chances
Seek impossible romances
Backseat driver, armchair general, very harmful and not so helpful
In the theme park, eating fast food
But you're in one of your moods
The key is
In the ignition, if you're single you can
Sleep in the star position
Like a Nagasaki of the soul
You're so cold and so combustible, your life is no longer a mystery
'Cause you forgot to clear the history
Bungee jumping from the sky line
Plunging to your open neck line
You're not just one of the masses, you get plus one backstage passes
And the key is
In the ignition, if you're single
Sleep in a star position
December 30, 2016 Friday 7:28 PM
Possibly last entry before the new year.
Why am I writing an entry.
I am OK. I am also not okay. But I am the kind of Not Okay that isn't painful, y'know. It's like, no, please, leave me alone. Being around people reminds me that I am exhausted. Reminds me that I am dirty and gross and horrible and none of that is true but it is what I believe.
And then I gotta think, what do I mean, 'none of that is true'? I guess it's more like, it doesn't matter if it is true. It is hurting me, to think those things. So even if I am dirty and gross and horrible, I oughta believe I'm clean and beautiful and terrific because that's just healthier.
I am very not-healthy. I am eating well and sleeping okay-ish, but I am bored by most things. I mostly didn't listen to music this month, because I couldn't stand the sound of anything.
Scrape, scrape, scrape. Scrape, scrape, scrape.
You can imagine college applications at a time like this.
I am almost done with my final college essay, which I will probably send to Ruth before we head back to school, so she knows I wrote a different one. This one is less about stuff and more kind of an excuse to write about how I Am An Alien.
I like this essay, because I am lowkey cramming my depression into the spaces between paragraphs. I am an alien, not because I am actually different, but because I'm walled off by anxiety and shit. I worry about the tiniest things...
But I've made the essay about writing, too. Writing as a way to cope, is what my secret self is saying, but my actual essay is like oh, I just use writing instead of using eyes or whatever it is I actually said which was not that and is anyone else confused and tired by my words?
On Landing a Spaceship (Alternately Titled: How to be Human), is what it is called.
Little do they know, I have never landed and probably never will, and also I frequently forget how to be a person. I am not really a person. I am too heavy for that. I bet I'd sink, if I were to jump in a lake. No tredding would help. Down like a rock, I'd go, ripples above me.
Caroline says that sometimes I talk like Zoidberg. Zoidberg is such a sad character! He is also my favorite.
IIIII don't think I am going to college. I don't think I am going to make it into any of these schools
And also I paid Liv $150 today because I accidentally lost her little brother's inhaler.
Adrian, this other kid, Liv, her bro, and meeee –– we were hiking around a local lake. The snow is virtually untouched, since it just came down yesterday. Halfway along the trail, Liv's bro, who is only about nine years old, got out of breath. He took some puffs of his inhaler and then had nowhere to put it (Liv had been holding it before, but she was way ahead) so I took it and put it in my pocket, which I then zipped shut.
Thing is, the pocket had a hole in it, I guess (like the Polar Express but with more consequence) and out slipped the inhaler along with my headphones. I felt really bad and the little boy started crying, so I gave Liv some money (she wouldn't take it, so I just left it in her lap when I got dropped off at my house).
The whole thing made me a million times more tired than I was. It was like, suddenly I was winter. Completely gone, cold, no space for extra life. My whole soul evaporated. Which, I know that seems melodramatic. It wasn't dramatic, though! I wasn't even angsting. The guilt was not in my gut. It did not cut up from my stomach to my shoulder, right through the heart, the way it has done before.
I just emptied out. Real thoughts came to a complete halt, and I stopped feeling stuff, which was nice I guess, but I also couldn't stop thinking about how I probably just created a huge inconvenience by losing that inhaler. Like, now, someone's gonna have to go to the doctor to go pick up a new one, someone's gonna have to explain the loss to the kid's dad, I probably got Liv and her bro in trouble with their parents, the kid is gonna have to be careful not to exert himself, etc. etc. etc. It's like I lost someone else's time, very valuable time, and that is what I feel worst about. I'd give them all my savings to take it back, y'know?
For a couple hours after I got home, I kinda just curled up in bed... watching this Japanese anime... only I was watching it in Spanish, with english subtitles, lol.
I still feel very dead. I want to stay dead until next year, and I mean literally a year from now, but maybe I can trick my body into thinking a day and a half is enough.
Someone cut out my eyes.
Then my stomach.
Then my heart.
Don't do any of that. I am just strange with the bloody things. They come in my mind when I'm tired like this. Exhausted, finger numb exhausted, drop dead exhausted, skin curl exhausted, osmium eyelashes, rotting feet, ache in the muscles, brain turned soup, thin dirty water dribbling out through my ears, nose, mouth, every follicle and pore, exhausted.
Will melt, melting, melted.
I think my legs are clay. You could twist 'em, around, watch the flesh thin at the point of motion till it just breaks off. Stubs wrapped neat, like the ends of sausages.
I go now. I go maybe to sleep, or maybe to Do Nothing, or maybe to Try To Do Something And Inevitably Fail.