I can tell I’m under stress because mind is racing every night with crazy dreams. Not necessarily nightmares, just busy dreams. Like my mind is afraid to take even a few hours of sleep to slow down and shut out the world for a while. I have to keep running or who knows what could happen.
For being the shortest month of the year, February is too damn long. Its cold and it makes you feel like summer is never going to come. And I’m dying for summer. But also terrified of it, because it will be different than any summer I’ve had before.
I know I’m young. I’ve got years and years in which everything will change. But I’m learning that life changes without my advice or permission. And I wish it would let me in on the process every once in a while. I make plans and plans and plans and they never work out. And I know it will all make sense eventually, but in the meantime it’s terrifying and frustrating.
I thought I finally knew what I was going to do. I thought I’d finally found it, finally figured it all out. And I made huge sacrifices for that plan, for that dream. And now I’m left scrambling to pick up the pieces of my ideas and my hopes and stitch them into something useful. And I wonder why I have to do that. Why my original pattern had to be torn apart. Why I never make something whole.
I’m tired of these motley plans sewn together with broken dreams. I’m a person, not a patchwork quilt. I’m tired of living in the seams.
But it seems like that’s all I ever do.