Today I realized how routine my future will be and how trapped I’ll feel.
I just want to drive away, climb to the top of the hardest trail I can find, and stay there forever.
I want to be sixteen.
I want a car.
I want out.
And maybe – when I’ve gotten my shit together – someone to share out with.
(Wisdom Tree, LA, on my bucket list)
Someone to sit under the one tree at the top of the trail with and make me feel like I have a reason to be here – that I am worth more than I will ever think I am. Someone who will tell me it’s the feelings not the thoughts that count. A fellow music addict, possibly insane person, hiker, exerciser, deep thinker, meaningful conversation-haver, pervert, love obsessionaire, etc., etc. Someone who by being in my life will make me a better person.
Someone once told me that love isn’t just a feeling, but a decision. Which made sense, but I didn’t agree. We can’t choose who we fall in love with/feel love for, but we can decide whether they are worthy. Not the snooty kind of worth – no – someone who will treat you the way you deserve, reign you in when you’re being a shitty person, and somehow know when you need to be alone, when you need silent arms around you, when you need a kiss to brighten your day. And maybe once in a while but you flowers and chocolate (or if you’re me blindfold you and drive you somewhere beautiful). Who won’t be worried about being sexist or about not hitting a girl when you need to wrestle someone around. (What? We’ve already established that I’m weird).
You may not be perfect, but somehow you make each other better. That’s love.
Sorry. Somehow everything I write winds back up at love.
My life feels like a cage right now. And in that cage there’s a noose. It started as a big loop around the entire thing, but it’s tightening tighter around my neck. And heart.
The normal resting heart rate of a human being is 60-100 beats per minute. I had a day (a particularly stressful one) last week where I was sitting there at my desk watching a video or something and my heart rate was 123 bpm. (Perks of an Apple Watch you can measure your heart rate). That’s not healthy. It’s a noose.
Sorry. What am I even apologizing for? I don’t know Ivy stop doing this you know people look at you funny when you talk to yourself.
I just had one of those moments where I had to pause my music and then turned on again and was like: whoa who turned this shit up so loud??? Then: Oh. I did.
I’m going to sign off now. Another kinda shitty post. Oh well. Thanks for reading if you’ve gotten this far. Congratulations – you’ve crossed the finish line.