If You're Out There(37)
Priya here.
Oof, this feels weird. But I guess I’m doing it.
I never keep journals up after I start them. Maybe because deep down I know it’s just a glorified way of talking to yourself. And who wants to admit they talk to themselves? But I don’t know. I guess lately I could use the company.
This isn’t even mine. I stole it off Amanda—packed in the same box as her computer. It’s the nice kind, from the good stationery store, and the cover says Follow Your Heart. She’ll never miss it. I’m convinced she’s recovering from a bit of a shopping problem. (This wasn’t even the only journal in the box. The other one said Love Your Life.)
Amanda hasn’t let up on her exhaustive positivity any since we became roomies. So. Much. Singing. Think you could tone it down there, Mandy? And while we’re at it, the LIVE LAUGH LOVE blocks you’ve got mounted above the minifridge are a bit much.
Today Amanda was stuck on that Judy Garland song “Get Happy.” Which, okay, can I just be grouchy for a minute? Because what is the takeaway supposed to be from this little ditty? You want to be happy? Oh okay. Get that way! Thanks a lot, Judy Garland. I guess the rest of us were just overcomplicating things.
Listen to me. I sound like Zan with all this grumpitude.
Ugh. Why did I bring her up? I can’t think about her right now. Can’t think about anyone.
OKAY BEING POSITIVE FOR A MINUTE!
I got a shiny new textbook this week. I’m learning Mandarin, and can now write the characters for “I am a student,” “You are a student,” and “You (respected) are a student.” As for pronunciation, thaaat will have to wait a while.
I keep on scarfing down blueberries. They are a superb study food, I always say. And great for any diet. ?
Before I forget,
TO DO:
Daily, relentless positive affirmations
Project dial up
Loose documents—remind!
Photo suggestions? Think back.
Jumping jacks and sit-ups (for health)
Cut back on TV (to prevent brain decay)
Speaking of my brain—request one more textbook
More blueberries
(PS. Yes—you got me. I put already-done things on to-do lists. It makes me feel accomplished, all right? Even if the aforementioned completed tasks were only debatably successful.)
Anyway, I’m signing off now. Probably forever because I have historic journal commitment issues. We’ll see how bored I get.
?Adiós! Ciao! Auf Wiedersehen!
(Principle #301: Judy Garland would be a sucky therapist.)
Six
Friday, September 14
I know there are rules. Basic human etiquette or whatever. I know, for example, that I should wait until a socially acceptable hour to call Logan. I watch the sun come up over the trees from my bedroom window, already dressed for the day. Then I decide that six thirty in the morning is absolutely a socially acceptable time to call someone. It goes to voice mail, so I text.
Are you awake? Call me!
I keep seeing it during breakfast. Smashed together among the other colorful letter magnets on the fridge. On my phone, over toast, smack-dab in the center of the word BuzzFeed. In Harrison’s morning funnies, repeated over and over above a sleeping cartoon cat.
ZZ
zz
zzzzzzzzzzzz
If Mom weren’t so tyrannical about sugary cereals, I’d probably see it floating in my Alpha-Bits. That nagging, tugging, bad feeling is back, and for some reason I know that I can only talk to Logan about it.
As of eight, he still hasn’t responded. The unanswered texts go as follows:
Hellooooooo?
Roger, text me back, Roger. 10-4
What does 10-4 mean?
And who is Roger?
Okay this is not a drill, I have abandonment issues, where are you?
I don’t really have abandonment issues. I don’t think. But please call me at your earliest convenience.
You are THE WORST!
. . . Okay you’re not the worst.
(You might be the worst.)
I don’t pass him in the halls on the way to either of my first two classes. I keep checking to make sure my phone is getting service. I need to look at his assuring face. To know if he can see what I do.
From the back row, I tune out a lecture about Puritans, or Pilgrims? I try to remember Logan’s second-period class today. Biology, maybe. I think I’ve seen him walking toward the labs when I’ve had history. For a moment I actually listen to the lecture—“Corn was also a significant source of sustenance”—annnnnnnnd I imagine myself face-planting into my desk.
The clock on the wall is taunting me, the second hand moving effortfully, through thick, invisible sludge. No one seems to notice as I get up, which is good because I am suddenly convinced I will drown from this rising tide of simultaneous angst and boredom without the refuge of the bathroom pass.
I close the door behind me and gulp the glorious hallway air. The corridor is mostly silent, aside from the clacking of my ankle boots. I actually put in some effort getting ready this morning, because I had time on my hands and nervous energy to expel. And yeah, okay—maybe a little bit because some part of me enjoyed the thought of looking nice for someone else. I settled on a paisley top and snug jeans. I even put on bronzer. Before I left for school, I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror and stood still. It felt like the first time I’d really seen myself in ages.