And one day, I am gonna grow wings

I wonder when is that critical moment; that steady, inevitable drift as i always imagined-- or maybe its the at first imperceptible, and then all-consuming fall-- from what ive always been into what i hope to be. i wonder when the "when im older" happens, or how. im older now. im older than i was when i started writing this entry.

A chemical reaction

today i wanted to scream during F block because I was very very happy and wondered why i wouldnt just shout out if i wanted to so bad. i wanted to so much it tickled the top of my throat but i thought that. 1. it would cause mayhem in my classroom, or maybe a frigid pool of glaring silence. (either one would be excruitatingly awkward and funny) 2. it would probably cause a more dramatic effect than beneficial outcome 3. people just dont do that. and i was a little upset at myself to have to weigh all my options before doing them. are all my actions measured? is nothing i do that completely spontaneous and raw impulse we all have.. do we make those settle? are our actions the addition of our impulse - percieved societal expectations - percieved social image - self-assurance limitations = diluted action? i beat my urges down and leash them up. its a good thing i guess that i dont completely destroy them. but because they are kept so near, i can hear them whining and barking.

Hysterical and useless

and i was thinking about all the petty things i said at lunch to people whom i dont know very well, and i wondered why people even bother with that small talk. if the only thing these people know me by are these "omg. ya. wow. huh. really?" conversations we have during sporadic lunches, they must find me so utterly boring. maybe i shouldve shouted out loud then, which wouldve been much more interesting than my feigned interest. "your mom made you a salad? yum. no i dont have that teacher. school sucks" and honestly i dont think school sucks in the slightest

i wish i could create music because when my fingers used to be able to fly over the piano keys like the long, spindly spiders theyd matured into, i would sit at that piano bench for hours. my piano sounds like crushing bone, people chewing with their mouths open, or some other horrific noise. it hasnt been tuned since even before we bought it, over 9 years ago. but to me, it sounded perfect because i could only hear what i heard in my head, supplemented a bit by the awareness of pounding keys and sounds, but those hardly mattered. every thought i had shot from my fingertips throught this vast organ, like a heart pumping out beats expelled out and its was what i had inside of me.. except out of me. i could listen to it. so could others! and then my piano lessons were over because we couldnt afford them, and i taught myself one refrain of one song and i can still play it for an hour at a time, past annoying others and my dogs beginning to howl, past even when up to my shoulder becomes sore, because its all i have left of that

i miss creating