When I was thinking of writing something, all these great sentences and pretty phrases kept running through my mind, except when it came to finding the last few words, I always drew a blank. So desperate was I to say something important or profound or meaningful.
That was a really random opening paragraph. But it was what first came to mind, so there you go. Anyway, what I was saying is, my mind is continually overrun with some half-a-sentence which sounds real great if it were not for the fact that I never am able to complete it for some reason. If, by some miracle, I do manage to find the ending of that sentence, I always get the feeling that I read that somewhere or saw it in a movie. For example while I was doing maths, this first half of a sentence came to mind: Her life was a series of coffee breaks—actually it was more like the eternal wait for a coffee break; she knew, of course, that that wasn’t right, that something had to change, that she can’t always be waiting for it to be over—though the ‘it’ kept changing continually, she always was waiting for its end—her Uncle used to say_________________________________
And that’s it. That’s when I lost her, and her story. It’s frustrating and kind of makes me feel like I’m somehow disappointing it. It being the story, or the person it was about. I mean, out of all the tired high school students doing math, it decided to come to me, and I couldn’t even manage to see it through till the first paragraph. Though to be honest, that one got further along than any of the other random sentences that are continually assaulting my brain.
In other news, I’m sixteen. Yep. For those who’ve been around a while, you’ll know my ‘fabulous fifteens’ were an angst-filled-overanalyzed teenage cliché. And to be honest, my sixteens don’t feel any different. Though to be fair, it’s only been little over two weeks since I reached that golden age. So here’s to hoping for an uneventful, depression-free year.
I still feel fourteen though. I’ve been feeling fourteen ever since I turned twelve. Don’t know what’s up with that.
The great Greek philosopher Amy Poehler said, “You attract the right things when you have a sense of who you are”
No wonder I found an old ice-cream stick stuck in my hair today morning. Is it weird that in the morning I feel like a different person, and by night I’m someone else—which would be great if I was Batman, but when you’re a sixteen year old who feels like a fourteen year old, it’s not really very pleasant. I read a book and see a movie, and for a while, when I’m alone, I’m that person: the protagonist. Or sometimes the protagonist’s grumpy grandma. It’s fun for a while, but then it’s also confusing, because…
See, that’s what I meant when I say I can’t find the ending. I can’t. And I can’t force it ‘cause that’s just wrong. So I’m going to leave that sentence be.
Ugh. Can’t do anything right.