19 Stars

My face is blotchy and my eyes are a bright turquoise. It's the first thing I noticed when I walked into the bathroom and you know what? I don't care. I'm owning up to it. Yup, that's right everyone, I was crying. I am a sad, broken little girl and I was crying just like a sad, broken little girl should be. Stupid, I know. Pathetic, definitely. But I am living this project now, and that's what I've got.

And you all think my eyes are pretty normally. You should see them when my face is bright red and full of tears. Seriously, they turn turquoise.

I felt it happening, the tears bubbling up from my toes. Here I am, walking on campus, crying once again. Seriously, there should be some kind of article written about me and the number of people who have seen me on the phone with my mom in tears walking down Liacouras Walk. It's absurd. Especially for someone who hates crying.

So I climbed the stairs of Anderson Hall, up to the roof deck where there's that pitiful square of grass that attempts to be a park or something. I laid down, looked up, and by God, there were stars. 19 of them. Ya, I counted. I laid there in that grass, in the quiet solitude, with nothing but the stars and my tears and realized, I have no idea what I'm doing. Sometimes I think you all know who I am more than I do. I think that's why I've been spending so much time alone lately. I've come to terms with the fact that when I'm associating myself with others, I know exactly who I am, how I act, what I think and what I feel. But if I'm ever left in a room with only myself for company, all of that disappears. It's weird, and I'm wondering if that's abnormal. It's got to be right? I've got to figure out how to be comfortable with myself in relation to myself.

Besides the very evident fact that I need to stop relying on others because finding reliable people these days has proven to be something of a very nearly impossible task.

Transience. I need that.


I'm overwhelmed with everything I've set in motion for myself. All of the tasks at hand, and the dreams and goals and people. But at the same time, I don't feel as though I'm doing enough. I don't know how that's possible. Literally, I wake up at 6 or 7 every morning, typically leave the house by 8 and definitely won't get back until about 9 or 10pm at the earliest. And almost every hour, I have something extremely specific to be doing. How do I think I can be doing more? I asked my mom if I was crazy and she told me yes. Joking of course, but still...

 I hate you. You're so honest and it's awesome. And I know you don't think it's awesome, but I really do. And you do it so easily. Not just with yourself, but with everybody.


You know why I love you? Because you don't let on. You're going to go into that rehearsal and no one is going to know that anything is wrong. 


One day, you'll think it's awesome too.