Summer is starting to get magical!
No more are my days bogged down by woes and more woes, most of which are irrational and ridiculous - no, because I've channelled all of my woes into a sort-of obsession with (some) musicals. One of my friends enticed me to the dark side with random clips from Broadway crazy Instagram accounts. It's been extremely good for me, though - I finally ugly sobbed after ages, so apparently emotionally investing myself in the lives of fictional characters is a better outlet than moping about my own. Is that how I managed to stay somewhat mentally stable when I was fifteen? Because it mattered so much that Whatsherface from Divergent died, leaving poor, sexy Tobias all alone in the world? Because I was so fixated on Dustfinger and Roxanne's relationship? Because I was too busy being sad about Fred and too busy being happy about Albus and whoever the OC in the latest fic was?
Maybe. That's not the main point of this post, though.
The point is, while it's an outlet for all my depressing existentialism and general indifference to the wonders of life, it does have a downside. That horrendously painful longing. You watch Marvin and Whizzer, and you want that - you'd kill for the Thrill of First Love, and you want the earth to sway when he/she/they sparkle. You watch Notting Hill, and you ask, "Where is my Hugh Grant?" You stare at pictures of Keanu Reeves for days and you swoon, swoon, swoon.
Well, I have found an outlet for the longing that comes with this first outlet: I know the chances of finding love anytime soon are outrageously low and the desire to actually find it is even lower, so I'm channelling all this desirous energy into being stupidly in love with my friends.
A short poem to explain my woes:
The pinafore is a billion light years away, and I miss her like crazy.
Maybe. That's not the main point of this post, though.
The point is, while it's an outlet for all my depressing existentialism and general indifference to the wonders of life, it does have a downside. That horrendously painful longing. You watch Marvin and Whizzer, and you want that - you'd kill for the Thrill of First Love, and you want the earth to sway when he/she/they sparkle. You watch Notting Hill, and you ask, "Where is my Hugh Grant?" You stare at pictures of Keanu Reeves for days and you swoon, swoon, swoon.
Well, I have found an outlet for the longing that comes with this first outlet: I know the chances of finding love anytime soon are outrageously low and the desire to actually find it is even lower, so I'm channelling all this desirous energy into being stupidly in love with my friends.
A short poem to explain my woes:
The pinafore is a billion light years away, and I miss her like crazy.
Everyone else is here, but we're all so lazy.
When will we meet? The future is hazy.
When will we meet? The future is hazy.
I just want to be with them, even though sometimes getting out of the house takes effort. I would love an evening with my friends and the forbidden delights of life like blazing it and drinking a bottle of wine. Talking about life, and other stupid, stupid things. Playing Uno. Dancing to Taylor Swift, or One Direction, or Boombayah. Sipping mint tea, maybe. I'd kill for the Thrill of First Love, I said, but I'd also kill for the chill of one evening, propped up against each other and pillows.
Actually, forget killing - at this point, I'd even settle for watching Pacific Rim.
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