Hi.
This is Sara.
I’m not here right now, so—
Well…
That’s only partially true.
Technically I’m here.
But only physically. Not so much mentally or emotionally.
Here, if it helps, let me give you my schedule so that you can contact me at a better time.
Monday: Wake up. School. Go home. Homework. Food. Guitar. Bed.
Tuesday: Wake up. School. Go home. Homework. Food. Guitar. Bed.
Wednesday: Wake up. School. Go home. Homework. Food. Guitar. Bed.
Thursday: Wake up. School. Go home. Homework. Food. Guitar. Bed.
Friday: Wake up. School. Go home. Homework. Food. Guitar. Bed.
Saturday: Wake up. Go somewhere I probably don’t want to be. Go home. Food. Guitar. Bed.
Sunday: Wake up. Church. Go home. Homework. Food. Guitar. Bed.
Get the picture?
Thought so.
Occasionally there are changes in this schedule that will take place without notice.
They’re too rare to take note of, however.
You can talk to me. But chances are you’ll only hear something I’ve told you before.
I’m sorry. It’s not really my fault.
I have a real life away-message.
I’m always on auto-pilot.
I could close my eyes, go to sleep, and STILL retrace the steps I make on a daily basis.
Then maybe I wouldn’t be so sleep deprived.
Hmm. Sleep-walking. I like that idea. Wouldn’t be much change at all.
~
I’m going to take come creative license here to make a bad music metaphor.
My life, as of right now, is an iPod.
Playing Freebird.
On repeat.
Unnecessarily long, sure. But it’s got its epic moments.
It’s good.
Not every second of every day of every week of every month of every year of every decade of every century though.
There’s just not enough cowbell.
Yeah, I know. That was bad. But I think you get what I’m saying, right?
OK. Glad we got that straight.
~
See, I never really was this way.
But I’m bored.
And I’m not talking about I’m bored as in, I have nothing to do so I’m going to write this.
I’m talking about, I’m bored of the same. Damn. Thing. Every. Damn. Day.
It’s the routine thing.
I can’t do routines.
I mean, I can. When forced.
Unwillingly.
Grudgingly, even.
But I deal with it.
Why?
Well… Because someone, somewhere, somehow conveyed the message to me that I need to.
In other words, I don’t actually know.
~
I’m not going to lie.
I don’t remember the last time I did anything fun on a weekend.
Honestly.
Weekends suck.
For me at least.
You’re perfectly entitled to disagree, I don’t honestly care.
Then again, until something changes, I don’t care about much of anything.
On average, I’ve been pretty lethargic this whole school year.
A strange case of senioritis, to be sure though.
I’m ready to get out, but I’m not.
It bores me, academically speaking. But then again, it always has.
But here’s the thing. I love my friends too much. And I’m definitely
not ready for this whole “reality” thing. Yay. More routine shit.
Yea--no.
And while I’m on the subject of “reality”, let me digress a little bit, just to clarify to everyone ever.
College?
No thanks.
Not yet.
Stop asking me. Every. Single. Day.
~
“I believe I can see the future
Cause I repeat the same routine
I think I used to have a purpose
But then again
That might have been a dream
I think I used to have a voice
Now I never make a sound
I just do what I've been told
I really don't want them to come around”
… So leave a message after the metaphorical beep, and I’ll get back to you when I come back to my senses.
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[Mr. Reznor, I Think You Wrote My Life - A Rant] blog
