I want... but instead I'm stressed.

I want to be where the air feels like the first breath you take as you step out of a club at sunrise. I want to be where I wake up and don't know where and who I I am - just how. I want that 'how' to live up to its embelished descriptions I can't seem to grasp while I'm awake. I want my tongue to tease you to life while you close around it and melt me to death as if it was the sun I was licking, not you. I want to shock, scream, whisper, smile, belong, and walk in hand in hand all at the same time while the world falls dead silent for a flicker of a second. I want the world to go back to normal afterwards and to not just act right, but to be right. I want to create, I want to make, I want to win, I want to fight, I want to love, I want to hate, I want to be there, I want to be here, I want to live, I want to die, I want to simply feel alive.

But on more concrete terms, here's a list of a few things I've been stressing over lately (real, tangible, present-in-the-real-world kind of things, I promise):
-A place for myself. Yes, I will probably immediately a) turn into the typical party girl and drink&party myself to death surrounded by 37 people I don't know and 4 actual friends, or b) turn into a female version of my crazy ex-neighbour who was a war veteran and a sort of hermit writer who never went out, except to scare people on Halloween. But I seriously regret having made the choice to continue living with my parents, not because I love them any less than I did during the whole making-a-college-decision era of my life, but because they just had to choose exactly that time of my life to start kicking things downhill. And now that they can't deal with anything except themselves, I'm the one left to keep running the house. I am not my sister's parent - if I wanted a kid I'd have made one myself (ha)! Seriously, I love my family more than anyone can imagine, hence my decision to continue living at home (not to mention how much easier I have it when it comes to food&cleaning&money heheh), but I'm only 19! It's too much and I need out. So. Anyone looking for roommate?
-Getting a job at rehab. Seriously. I'm addicted (ignore the stupid wordplay) to rehab stories and movies and autobiographies and yes, they may be a "little" less scary than the real deal, but I feel like those people need to be cared for and are not. Everyone thinks helping anyone else is more noble - the kids, the elderly, the disabled... They say addicts "bring out the worst in our communities" and that they "brought it onto themselves - by themselves", so why should anyone volunteer? Well, I say they are more like us than you can imagine. We aren't kids. We aren't old. Most of us aren't disabled. We are young, normal people, who, if raised under different circumstances, could very much be one of them. I'd like to know a random stranger cares for me if I was in rehab, because if I got myself there in the first place, I probably don't have anyone else to turn to anyways. I want to be that someone to some lost, miserable, cold-turkey-ing person. (This reminds me so much of that passage in "The Catcher in the Rye", btw).
-Fixing my car's AC. I know. I mentioned it ages ago and I still haven't fixed it. And it's still summer.
-A certain pair of weird light eyes in French class. Oh, yes, I started taking French. Je m'appelle FreeFlowers. ANYWAYS. I say 'weird light eyes' because they're this strange mixture of green and blue and grey and that colorless shiny wrapper paper color I can't name and they're... nice. Oh my. I'm going all Golden Tipped Eyelashes again.
-My obsession with my own constant confusion. It's sad and stressing and overwhelming and I can't take it. I can't just walk away either. It's kind of sort of like cigarrettes - I know they're bad for me but I almost like the whole process of fishing one out of the secret pocket in my bag and sticking it between my lips and cupping my hand around the lighter while I flick the fire on. I'm like that with my own darkness, and never has any good come out of it. I don't know why any will now. I'm just double-stressed because I can't deal with stumbles right now - only drunken ones. I can't deal with the whole really falling into this mess because now there's just too much at stake: actual good friends, good people, good parties, good places, good everything. The "dark year" I kept going on about before was different because those were bad friends, bad people, bad parties, bad places, bad everythings. I didn't have anything left in myself to lose back then, and it took me this long to realize it. Now it just feels like I'm standing on the ledge of an exponentially taller sky-scraper.
-PMS. Chocolate. Not going to the gym. Beer. Yes, I need to get my old body back quick. And hey - before anyone tells me to shut the fuck up, because that's exactly what everyone tells me with a practically offended look on their faces after giving me a once-over, it's a self-esteem thing. No one ever feels pretty a week before their period is due.
-Lunch with my mother on Friday. Jesus f-ing Christ. By the way we're already arguing over just planning it, I can tell it's gonna be simply dandy (I will never be able to not think of you, B, when I say this). God help me - set apart a fuckload of funny pills and even funnier spliffs (kidding, I'm such a good girl) and turn my autopilot on while I listen to her complain about the horrible daughter I am (and she doesn't even know half of it, ha) and proceeds to make us both cry and look like idiots while I stuff my face with unnecessary calories just so I won't have to say a word.
-Classes. Why, again, am I an International Relations major? I just want to be a writer, an artist, a poet, whatever! I want to laze around and doodle on notebooks and make shitloads of money with whatever crap inks out of my pen. I don't want to be a fucking diplomat and I don't want to be handcuffed to a 4x4 cubicle. I'm already crazy when I'm handcuffed to nothing (or at least nothing particularly boring, heh heh), I'd go totally mental if I was made into one of those glassy-eyed office freaks! Gahhh. I need a different major. And future. And life. And universe.
-My friend, who I'll call Ray (because that's "his" name in one of my novels), is also a stress factor. Ray, I think you're ridiculously hot and even if you had just stood still that day with only that gorgeously flimsy towel on and let me and my friend appreciate your mouth-watering six-pack, I still wouldn't have kissed you on Friday. I love you too much and I'm "mysterious and confused", so again, "Ray! What the fuck are we doing?? CHEERS!"
-Blondie. I forgot your name. Ray doesn't like you. I like your lips.

Shit. I'm a mess and I'm out of both chocolate and alcohol. And gas. And I need to shower. And I need to send my resumee (never know where to place the goddamm accent) to this volunteer work thing - not rehab, teaching again - so I better go.

Happy belated International Women's Day! We rock! No need to get us all showered with compliments because we already know it, right? ;)

There. I'm ending this one on a positive note.

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