I remember absolutely nothing from my wisdom tooth extraction. I remember a group of dentists (or would you call them surgeons? dentist surgeons?) swarming over me as they put the IV in me, the nice lady dentist person told me I’d fall asleep pretty quick. I remember thinking i’m totally not gonna fall asleep. I don’t even nap. They took my phone and my music. And then after that, nada.
I don’t even remember ending up in a different chair or a different room but I do remember laughing my head off. My sister cried when she woke up from anesthetize. I laughed. I laughed in the car and a little bit on the couch at Mom and Steve’s place. I made my Mom promise to record me while I was all dopey on drugs, but of course she screwed up and didn’t do it. I wasn’t surprised. She’s late, she just forgot, she overslept, she didn’t know how to, she just didn’t feel like it, she would BUT-it’s the same excuse for anything.
So what have I done for the past 3 days , secluded from the world? All this time on my hands to do-I don’t know, maybe my college applications due next month?
I’ve been taking baths.
I watched Jaws, in the bathtub, which I wouldn’t really recommended. Then I watched Chicago. I’ve been living in this happy bubble (bath) where I’m neglecting the fact that I need to email my AP Lit teacher because he expects emails from his students all most everyday, I need to actually study the map of the U.S (hey-it isn’t my fault. The school system has failed me), there’s a midterm for UCSD Bio on Friday, I’m taking a test on “The Things They Carried” when I return from school, I still have to do all my math homework and yada yada. It’s really funny, because this is my last year of high school, and I’ve been messing up more than I ever had in school. Instead of doing my work I spend more time curled up in a ball. I daydream about college, but can’t get myself to actually apply or write a personal statement. I complain about not having enough time, and when I do I fail to rise to the occasion. Maybe I’m lazy. Maybe it’s because I’m depressed. Maybe I should eat the extra dark 77% chocolate bar in my bag with a love poem in it.
This is not the year to start getting involved with a boy. What’s the point? He wants to stay in our city, and I’m itching to leave. What’s the point of starting anything if in eight months (considering I don’t screw it up/ I have enough money to go/AKA if all goes according to plan) I’ll be busting outta there in Sacramento or San Francisco? One second I think he likes me, the next second I think he really likes my best friend. They hang out a lot, I get jealous. Real, BURNING, jealousy but I don’t say anything because I don’t want to be that girl. That girl who’s 30 minutes away at her Mom’s fiancee’s house in bed, while her best friend is watching Stranger Things” with the guy who literally told this girl he liked her on Monday. He didn’t say because she was pretty, beautiful, smart, or funny, he said because she was kind and caring and sweet and knew just what to say to pick him up when he cuts himself down. I like that better than a guy thinking I’m pretty, but at the same time, my insecure ass wants him to say I’m pretty.
I wish that I wrote more. I should write everyday. Life is spinning by pretty quick. Being seventeen is a blur. All of a sudden all the pieces are coming together and it’s sink or swim.