I'm writing this at two in the morning, so bear with me. To give you a taste of my current state of mind, I just had to Google which bear to use in that sentence.
Half of summer has passed. To me, it doesn't feel like it's passing quickly; it feels like I've slipped into a cozy pocket of time that only seems warped when I consider it retrospectively. In this pocket, the days drip by in a pleasantly dull routine (I've come to realize that routine is impossible to for human beings to avoid--it seeks us out no matter how desperately we try to avoid it). I wake up around eleven. Sometimes I work, usually later in the week, which does me a lot of good. If not, I drive around, sometimes with my sister, sometimes alone. I curl up in my chair in the basement and read obsessively. Other trivialities and fleeting nothings fill the gaps. I lock myself in my room after everyone else has gone to bed and listen to music until roughly two in the morning. Then I go to bed to repeat it all the next day.
This routine suits me just fine. It's dull but not boring, if that makes sense. Contentment bursts within me at random moments, usually when I'm sitting on the back porch with my dad, or when I read something really interesting in one of my books, or when I'm shooting the breeze with a really nice co-worker, or when I'm driving down the riverfront with my sister in the passenger seat. These moments are more than enough to fulfill me. People are always grasping for mind-blowing, larger-than-life moments to bring them happiness, but it's the smaller moments.
It's odd that in these months since graduation, I've never caught myself reminiscing over my high school years. I haven't relived graduation in my mind, haven't walked down the halls of my school in my imagination. Faces and names are fading. I'm forgetting my class schedule from junior year, which teacher taught Forensics, the musk of the girls' locker room, what meaningless gossip was offered at the lunch table. Was I really so eager to leave that the moment I did I blocked out everything? Or is it all just...not worth remembering?
My emotions are so blunted. When I feel, I feel contentment, not jubilation. I feel irritation, not anger. I don't cry anymore. People around me seem so exuberant, so emotionally expressive. I've always been mellow, I suppose. People tell me to smile more, but I'm not sad. I guess I just have too much control over my emotions.
All of my friendships from high school have dwindled to basically nothing. Because I've allowed them to, by the way. I won't place the blame solely on everyone else. I've invested 110 percent in some friendships and have only received about 20 percent in return. I've cried over girls because I loved them in a hopeless, ridiculous, adolescent way. All for the best, I'm sure. It all taught me a thing or two about getting close to people, at least at this age.
To put it bluntly, I just don't like any of my friends. And when I think of the burden of trying to talk to the one that I do (did?) like, I give up before I've even tried. I feel like I'm lowering myself by trying to make plans with her, like it's beneath my pride or dignity.
The tone you're picking up from this journal is probably depressing. But I'm not depressed. None of this is a cry for help or anything. This is just the way things are for me right now. Also none of these paragraphs flowed at all. No cohesiveness whatsoever.