Sup, Billy. Me again. Sorry.
I'm in like. Again. Maybe love. Sesame Street was probably brought to you today by the number 4. And definitely by the letter F.
Is that what it is? The way your stomach continuously ties and unties itself. The feeling you get in your throat when they move closer to you. The way your heart pounds and your breath catches at every touch, every graze, no matter how small and insignificant. The sweaty palms, the dry mouth--these are all signs, but of what?
And then, when you send a text and it seems the whole world stops until you get one back. This aching--it hurts. But I want it. I've only felt this once before, but I don't know if it's the same. I don't know if I should embrace the feelings or push them aside. I can't imagine feeling happy could possibly be bad. And yes, it all results in happiness. In comfort. In not-loneliness.
I don't understand.
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The World On My Shoulders In the Form of a Backpack
Playlist
Figure 1
| Sad Factor | Tested and Verified Solution |
| 30% on first Psych test | Jane Austen and Chocolate |
| High School Drama in College | Jane Austen and Chocolate |
| Confusion about life-long goals | Jane Austen. Meh. Throw some Chocolate in there. |
| Feeling like dropping out of college because you’ll never EVER be on a ballroom team or orchestra ‘cause everyone else is SO much better than you are and trying so hard in school results in the same as not trying at all except for the added tiredness and unhappiness and your family is literally becoming destitute and you know it’s all your fault and so you HAVE to get good grades or they’re going into debt for nothing and your bishop most likely hates you which shouldn’t be too much of a problem since you have to move home with your parents for the next semester because you’ve drained their last reserves and so you’ll rarely ever see your ward friends again and on top of that you’ve already accumulated your freshman 15 from all the chocolate and Jane Austen seshes. | This is a complicated matter. And when Jane Austen and Chocolate just won’t do, a midnight jog is for you. No rhyme intended. Run until you can’t breathe, then keep running. Select a secluded spot as you run. Upon arrival, curl up in a corner and cry. Then pray. Then cry again. When your tear ducts are sufficiently depleted, find some sort of animal, preferably shorter than your knee-line (Any bigger tends to diminish the cuteness factor). Ducks are fine. Babies, of any species, are optimal. After animal selection, let said animal comfort you as you see fit. |
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