Take It Away...

No longer a minor, so that makes me a...major? I'm not sure. But in any case, I am now officially eighteen years of age, which makes me able to have a license that goes up and down instead of side to side. That's really about it. Actually, I'm not even sure that they give the vertical ones to you until you're twenty-one now. So that's gone too. What's left, then? The rest of my life. One AM and I'm still awake writing a blog post. Almost pathetic, but not really; I'm in an introspective mood. Nothing better than writing half to yourself, half to the world to get those inner tangles out there. Whatever that means.
It only hit me a little after midnight on Sunday that graduation is this year. This year! A few months, even! And then...college, said Luis. College, indeed. Philadelphia or Houston or Boston. Pennsylvania or Texas or Massachusetts. I don't even know what state I'll be in, much less what I'll be doing. Where did the time go? I've had the time of my life, sure, but it was a fast ride, it seems. I think the biggest reason it doesn't only feel like it was a couple of weeks ago that I was a freshman is the radical changes that I underwent during junior year. Besides that, I still remember walking into my advisory class first thing on the first day of school. I still remember that Ronnie Sherwood was in that class. Of all the things to remember.
It's strange to look too closely at anything now. There's always been a purpose, before. But now? Where's the purpose? Grades matter naught, or at least not much. College applications are in the hands of a higher being now (admissions officials, of course; what, did you think I was going to delve into the intelligent design debate?). Most things that we do now are for our own benefit.
I got a job. Got my first paycheck last Friday. I've been telling everyone that, believe it or not, I finally got off my lazy ass and started to actually do some work. But you know, I've been working for the past three years. It just paid really, really, really crappy. I've got free time now, though, so I figured, might as well serve gelato. Strangely enough, I posted more on my blog last year, when I had less free time, than this year. I guess that means that someone else should post on this blog too, every now and then, perhaps? Give me a little company?
The dawning of the rest of our lives, eh? That sounds about right. How quickly things change, though, you know? One day you're planning a trip to Italy that climaxes in an engagement with someone, the next day you're ranting through tears on a hotel balcony at her. We'll always have Italy, sure, but it's locked away now, to be seen gathering dust in a glass cabinet. Nostalgia in a box, for that eventual trip down memory lane, picking up fond recollections in turn, examining them, and replacing them carefully in their late-night AIM conversation cases. I guess it's true about the best-laid plans. Although I never did quite get how the mice were involved, but I suppose a little mystery keeps thing spicy.
Coffee stains splattered over equations for the length of a guitar string, that's what's on the desk in front of me. That's how today has been. Guitar, food, AIM, phone, science fair. O Unholy Tormentor, Science Fair! Or so it seems, at least. Still have to finish that. I have all the data, I just don't know what to do with it. Sounds a bit like life. Sounds a lot like love, actually. Watch someone pop out of nowhere and make fun of me for using the word "data" in an analogy. Such a nerd, I am. That's a compliment from a certain someone in San Diego, though. Or at least, it used to be. I don't know half of my friends half as well as I should like. On the plus side, I've gone through these last three and a half years with only truly hating one person in the long run. But I think hating is so counterproductive, you know? The only influence hating can have is if you have a way to screw over the person you hate, and I haven't had that, so I've just spend a couple years nursing a general strong dislike for him. Oh well; can't love everyone.
Speaking of which, we all need to loosen up about using the word love. Or Love, or whatever. I understand that some people feel that they don't know what love is, but seriously, I believe love is what you feel it is. Everyone defines everything differently; I define love as what you feel when you feel like saying "I love you". What else is there? To stop yourself from saying that is denying a puppy to a little boy. People say love is cliched. I say that saying it's cliched is cliched. Love is like a sofa, and keeping yourself from capitalizing the word is like putting plastic on the sofa, so your family can't actually sit on it. Who the hell are you waiting for, anyways? The president? "Oh, Mr. President, we were saving these couches just for you. Here, let me take the plastic off." Right. Use them. Use love.
The rain outside patters softly on the lamplit street. I'm not even kidding. It's picturesque, really. It's delightful, it's delicious, it's de-lovely...wonderful song, that one. Slow dancing would be nice, outside. I think I'll drift off to sleep with that image in my head.
The night is young, the skies are clear, so if you want to go walking, dear...