You are drowning a puppy.
You are so tempted to let the puppy live but for some reason you know in your heart that this puppy, however cute and engaging, is toxic.
So it squirms to use its air path, and it struggles hard to win back the right to breathe but slowly it starts to kick less, struggle less, and all at once, its just a body, silent and stiff, still like death, the most hopeless, desolate stillness. Continue reading
When you’re anxiously awaiting something, time gets distorted. It no longer follows a linear path, where you count down the days until what you’ve been waiting for. Instead, you follow it through loop de loops and pivots and re-runs, simply because your imagination is so strong.
Time neither speeds up or slows down. It follows a train that a warped three-year-old has constructed, going around in circles and boomerang tails.
Anticipation is a strange illusion. You spend weeks and weeks of your life imagining and re-imagining an event taking place, that when it actually happens, you find yourself comparing it to what your mind had dreamed.
Your fingers drum on hardtops, you find yourself preparing and re-preparing, wanting a moment to be nearly perfect. It’s false hope; events never play out exactly as you’d like them to. And that creates disappointment. It breeds frustration. Anticipation is a ruthless, lying thing.
And just like that, you’re looking around and the event has already happened. The experience of anticipation is replaced with nostalgia. The event has become solidified in your memory, hazed with the ruminations of your anticipation. Looking back, you can’t remember specific details. You can’t remember who said what and who sat where, but you remember overall emotion and sentiment.
How do I even begin to describe her? My roommate at debate camp for two years, who first introduced me to a substantial amount of music that I listen to today. I’m so glad to have met you, because my life would be half as fun if you weren’t in it.