Journal
The Sun Also Rises?
Friday, November 7th, 2008.
It’s Friday night, and there’s a game tomorrow… Bright and early! We’ll be out brighter and earlier (probably before the sun rises) rehearsing. The good news is that the game is at twelve, so we will get out before nightfall and have the opportunity to rest and have a Saturday night.
Every day my emotions and my mood are a wreck all over again. It’s like a vicious cycle. I’m trying to regain my optimism, but I feel like, in these past few weeks, there has been a lot of negative energy and a lot of negativity against me, and much less happiness. For a long time, you try to continue to be optimistic, but eventually it gets to you. So lately I’m just very confused, very tired, and very depressed. However, today and yesterday I spent a lot of time trying to curb these thoughts, and have succeeded to a certain extent. It will take a lot of meditation and care, but I will get back to where I was.
Band is almost over. We have two more performances, then band banquet. The semester is coming to a close. Spring class registration has started. Things keep moving forward, and there’s no time to dwell, or to look back. I guess that’s all I can say for sure at this point, except that tomorrow is another busy day, and hopefully next week will be more calm, so I can continue to try to collect my thoughts into any sensible meaning.
And So It Goes
Wednesday, November 5th, 2008.
A lot has happened since I last wrote. For instance, a new president was elected. This has, according to the reaction by my fellows here on campus, given Americans a reason to live. Other than that, it’s been pretty dire. I have not had time to write, but I believe this is my last spurt of busyness of the fall semester.
A month ago, I was convinced that not much could have been better about my current state—about college, and friends, and grades, and people, and all of these new experiences and responsibilities. A month ago I was happier than ever, and in disbelief that it was actually as fun as they say it is. Today, I am miserable. I hate to admit it, but I have been beaten down enough. Nothing is quite adding up anymore, and everything is out of place. My life at the moment consists of me constantly trying to ward off negative thoughts, and I’ve stopped sleeping at night. My schedule and my mindset are all out of whack and it’s not getting easier.
Needless to say, my optimism is shot for now. I need to find a way to recuperate and do so very quickly, because the state that I’m in is worse than I could have imagined, and I’m becoming very frustrated, anxious, and upset.
My Little Sister
It’s six o’ clock PM–not really late enough, in my opinion, to merit the utter blackness enveloping everything I drive by. But it’s winter time, and the sun sets at about four now.
I just picked my little sister up from her friend’s house, where she had been playing since two. There’s a song on the radio talking about some lost love, but the volume is too low to discern what exactly the words are, and, quite frankly, I couldn’t care less.
I look over at her. She’s just ten years old and innocent. Her legs can’t touch the floor while she sits, so she bobs them up and down to the song she’s humming to herself. She is looking out the window and trying to read every lit-up sign that we pass. She is truly in her own world. She looks like she has something very important on her mind.
I am reminded of a time when I was just her age–eight years ago. I would have been in that seat, and my father, driving me home, would notice my silence and the thoughtful spark in my eye.
“What are you thinking about?” he would ask.
“Nothing.” I would invariably answer; I always told him “nothing.” It was never true. When I was ten, I was always preoccupied with the most insignificant things, like how much I enjoyed spending time with my friends that day, or what I would do when I got home.
But when I got home, I almost had a routine. I would cuddle with my mother on the couch. Maybe she would read a book to me. Maybe we would watch a television show. It didn’t matter; with her arm around me and my head by her side, nothing mattered.
Things were easy then, to say the least. I had no problems, no worries, no “issues.” I was comfortable, if nothing else. If I hurt myself, I held on to the superstition that, if my mother kissed me, my pain would magically subside. I believed that I could do anything. I wanted to be a scientist and an astronaut and a fireman. I wanted to be a doctor to help people and a veterinarian to help dogs. I could fly if I wanted to. I had friends without worries, too. We could pass eight hours together without realizing any time had elapsed.
Now that I am driving home, I remember those days fondly. I miss those days. Somehow, I am eighteen years old and a senior in high school. Somehow, I am driving myself home. When I was young, I had thought it’d be another forty years before I drove a car. Now, looking back, it seems like a weekend. As I watched my older sister and eventually my older brother graduate from high school, I was convinced (even disappointed) that I would never reach that age. I would never be an “adult.” Now, I face college. I have responsibilities. I have a lot of friends, and just as many enemies. Every day, I wake up and go to sleep in a perpetual state of motion. My life is an intricate web of factions, friends, and duties, and time is flying fast. Every week, day, and minute seems like nothing more than another grain of sand on a beach. Every moment is momentary. Every emotion–sad or happy–is transitory. Yesterday I was ten, today I am eighteen.
I glance back over at my little sister–this time with a little more reverence and respect. How jealous I am; how I only wish I could be that age–that careless–for one more day. My mother used to tell me to never grow up, that I ought to stay a kid forever. I thought that was an absurd gesture. Why would I want to stay that age forever? Adults are the ones who have it easy. They are the ones who have fun. I wish I had listened. She says it to my little sister now, and I’m sure she laughs just as much. After all, it is the sole desire of every young child to be older. For me, I wish to be younger. I wish to be able to take my problems and discard them at my mother’s side again. I wish that she could kiss me and heal my wounds. I wish that I again believed that I could, indeed, do anything.
People often wonder where the time has gone. They act as if it has slipped by them undetected. I have decided that this is only part true. I think that time has played a trick on us. It has left us because we did not appreciate it enough. For me, I have learned my lesson, and I am learning to appreciate it. If I do not, I can expect the next eighteen years to pass just as quickly. Instead of dwelling on what I do not have anymore, I will learn to appreciate what I still have and what I have gained. For now, that means the friends and family I have. Perhaps in another two years, though, it will change again.
I take one final look at my sister. She’s still kicking away, humming away, thinking away. We arrive at a stop light.
“Hey, Abbey,” I ask, “what are you thinking about?” I anticipate the answer. I need the answer.
She responds nonchalantly, though, to me, it is everything.
“Nothing.”