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I am already packing. In actuality, I should already be packed, but I figure that I am bringing stuff I use all the time, so it’s okay if I’m not packed yet.
Right now, I am a baby-faced little girl getting ready to go off and live with strangers and it scares me. On Thursday, I’ll leave Lewisburg, and that scares me. I consider how I came to choose Richmond over anywhere else, because I went back on my word of not going to college in the south, especially not in Richmond. And I thought I wanted to go to a tiny liberal arts school, and here I am going to the largest school in the state of Virginia. No matter how much I rack my brain, I can’t remember how I came to this decision.
I do feel pretty ready now, aside from the fact that I don’t have that essential computer. The only reasons I wouldn’t feel ready are superficial ones. As in, I don’t feel that I look old enough to go to college, and I have a hidden fear that people will look down on me for not blending in with the upperclassmen immediately. After all, this year, I was the girl who somehow mistakenly obtained a senior class t-shirt as a freshman. Yeah, I heard about that.
What I am not ready for is adjusting back to the way I was in Richmond. This would include obsessive hair-straightening, makeup-slathering, leg-shaving, and self-consciousness. Actually, fuck that. I refuse to adjust, and I also refuse to look shitty in comparison.
Oh, other things to make me feel weird about everything.
One, Travis is on his man-period and claims that if he gets fleas, then he will sue me. The reason he would get fleas? Well, long story short, we have two kittens and they have many fleas. Also, I know that Travis only presses CTRL + F and then types in “Travis” whenever he reads this old thang. So. I had to name-drop.
Two, Ali is in California, living and breathing new air and so the fact that I cannot see her again before I leave is devastating, although it’s excellent to know that she’s enjoying the west coast. She’s taken the form of everything I have needed over the past few months. A non-lame cheerleader to push me beyond my self-imposed limits (no, I did not even consider it a realistic goal to say two words to this one particular fellow, and here we went and pestered him for a good fifteen minutes). She led me gently into new situations and only pushed me when I needed her to (talk about an unintentionally sexual sentence). A fellow sensitive thinker–one rough night, we cried about the state of the world and society and how full of shit everyone is, as though these things were deep, entirely tangible and painful gashes in our meaningless bodies. Who else will cry with me about the state of the world and society and be so sincere about it all? But I don’t know that she knows how much of a teacher she’s been, or how important it is that she’s a close friend and also someone with a rather specific and urgent lesson plan.
Three, I can tell that Phelan has washed his hands of any sort of attachment, and good for him. It’s the painless route, especially considering that he has noooo idea when he’ll see me again. Me, on the other hand, it’s never that easy, and I can’t help but feel a sharp sadness at the fact that I’m kind of playing a one-person game of Tug of War or Twister or Candyland or you know. Whatever. Game of your choice. I’ve lost someone, and it’s leaving a significant gap in my life. I can’t mull my feelings over with anyone except myself because I’m certain that in this situation, I’m the only one who could understand. We never talked about feelings, and I couldn’t explain everything to anyone else. I can talk to myself, but it won’t get anything sorted out. I don’t exactly know what I’m dealing with here. I mean, there’s a good amount of despair, but also this strangely comforting warmth that I always get when I’m free.
So I’d like you-guyses thoughts on age differences in relationships. Older, younger, rules you generally abide by, what?
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