I should have just gone to bed.

It's been a while
since I've written,
but also since other things,
so who knows.

It's too late to be up and it would be lying to say I couldn't sleep, so I won't.  I can always sleep.  My body has that skill.  But my mind, tonight, it doesn't want to go there.  I'm scared of what will happen when I close my eyes.

So I'm stuck.  I can't be productive, exactly, because I'm thinking too much and feeling too much and frankly, crying too much to get much of anything done.

My roommate found me crying as I transferred chocolate chip cookies from the baking sheet to the plate.  Admittedly not my shining moment.

It's just one of those nights, or maybe it's been one of those weekends, when I can't deal with anything because it's all too big for me.  The whole past week, I suppose, has been a little much.  Not all bad.  Just all... much.

I've been having such extreme floods of memories of the past four years, seeing people I haven't seen, remembering emotions I thought died with the mono my freshman year.
But, of course, the mono is back.  It's just that this time it's not me, and this time it's got some ugly friends.
And it's hard to tell what your tears are for when there's two cases of mono and one case of cancer and 90,000 cases of excitement about beating Stanford and one torn up, twisted, knotted stomach inside you competing for your attention.  It's like butterflies in there, but dermestids instead.

I'm falling into a place I don't want to be.  I don't want to be here I don't want to be here I don't want to be here I'll repeat it over and over until my lungs give out.
The truth is, though, that I want to be here so badly.  I just want here to look differently.
It is impossible to deny how well this semester is going.  All you have to do is discount my ever-growing list of failures, the brief fight and break-up, and the cancer.  Because then you're left with the mind-blowingly supportive people that have crawled out of the woodwork and convened on my metaphorical doorstep to bring me some of the best times of my life.  What you're left with when you ignore the fact that he's leaving LA tomorrow, maybe for good, is four classes that speak directly to my heart, a band season that just won't fucking quit, the best co-section leader I could have asked for, and a lunch with Bobby Kennedy, Jr.

But I can't ignore those damn pesky facts.  Can't get it out of my mind that he might never come back.  Can't help looking up flights to Minnesota just in case.
Can't stop realizing over and over again that this stupid fucking band program has meant so fucking much to me and I'm just going to miss it in the stupidest way possible because it brought me to the best people at the most important times.

It's after 2 AM.  I've officially ruined the rest of my Monday.
I'm an idiot.  And I'm so lucky.  And I'm so sorry.  And I'm so scared.

What a way to come back to this.  Maybe I'll write something worthwhile another day, but this one was just for me.