At first I thought this whole ‘following the blog prompt’ thing would be boring and conformist of me, but now, every time I look at our weekly calendar, it feels like a challenge. Mocking me. I dare you to write about this. Or don’t. I bet you have nothing on me anyway. It’s like if I don’t do it, it’s because I wasn’t enough. So I have to. I am a slave to my own ever-changing mind and jacked-up perceptions. It’s good.
As probably the worst kind of human monster known to man or woman or child or whatever, a director who is in the middle of tech week, I’d like to think that the physical and psychological toil I’m going through right now is worth it. In fact, that belief is all the hope I’m clinging to at the moment as I yell at everyone around me out of exhaustion and take a nap on the tables in the front commons at 6 o’clock in the evening. If the hell I’m going through right now is not worth it (literally, we call it hell week), then I don’t know what I am doing on this planet or in this human vessel or anywhere.
Anyway, I know it definitely is, even if I can’t feel it right now. Or anything. Because I’m numb. And I have so much writing on my left hand. That has faded considerably. Actually, I really wish I could read it because that’s the only way I know what things to do anymore. I’m surprised my parents didn’t notice it and accuse me of being Satan’s little helper or something. What kind of alternate universe am I living in.
I feel kind of bled dry already. It may be the whole tech week thing. It may be that I didn’t realize how much writing this whole course would involve. It’s a serious lot of writing. You’d think I’d get that from the title Creative Writing, and yet….
As much as I am dying, it’s so nice to come home to your little community of friends every day after school is over. That’s just the purest thing ever. I want that forever. I mean, I guess I kind of get that during school now too, I love all of my classes. I would like Senior Project more if Ms. Case didn’t absolutely despise my guts for never doing any of her work and treating her class as my own free block. I can’t help it. I swear to God. It’s like whenever I’m there, there’s this voice chanting inside me: Kasia…this is your time…to do whatever the fuck you please. If anyone tells you you need to be doing something…DON’TTTTTT DO ITTTTTT.
I would call that senioritis, but I don’t know what I’m doing with my life.
I just…it’s so hard to shout into the void when I myself feel like a very expansive void.
Mr. O’Connor completely BURNED me at lunch today. He asked me why I hadn’t sent him my stuff that I got the Scholastic awards for yet and I said I was on the line about that and he was like, “That’s okay, Kasia, just live in a cave for the rest of your life.” That actually happened. I thought it was hilarious. Now I’m thinking after that BURN, I might do it, but I’m still a completely on the line about some of the things. It gets very dark -expose-of-my-life. But I guess he’s right. I will never be able to handpick my audience.
Prisoner 8612 said he probably can’t come to my play opening night which kind of takes the wind out of my sails…
Here is a poem I wrote and won a silver key for in case you care or something. I don’t like it that much compared to the other things but I created it so what can I do. There is really not much I can do about creating things once they’re done.
A Treatise Against Desire
I bent over backwards for you.
Practically shattered my spine.
Slept with my fingers crossed;
Crossed them so hard they broke.
Devoured so many four leaf clovers I threw them up.
Drank half a glass of water before and after sleep
So I wouldn’t lose the faintest image of you
Brewed in my unconscious working mind.
Cried over a wishbone.
Emptied my change into the fountain;
Started throwing bills in the fountain.
Stared at the sky for six hours unblinking so I
Could wish on every falling star I saw.
You are the wish breath on my birthday candles.
The blindfold past its expiration date.
The thorned rose I dearly clutch
And bleed for.
I’ll light a candle for you every night.
I’ll avoid the cracks in the sidewalk.
Oh, you’ve seen the fire,
What do you have to touch it for?
Is the universe spiting me?
The one thing I ever wanted
Is a test of my durability.
I can’t tell anymore
Whether I am fighting the great battle
Or dragging out an empty promise.