What would happen if I walked into a dust devil (intentionally or accidentally)? Would it be like a tiny tornado or would I just get kind of/really dusty? Does anyone have experience with this?
I was in a bike accident by myself. I mean, there were a lot of causes but it’s probably more the bike’s fault than anything else.
The thing is, though, that I wish I had hit my head.
People say that I’m really lucky that I haven’t even chipped a tooth. They say that God must have been watching over me. While I agree that God was watching over me, I don’t think that he did it as some special service. I’ve had a lot of close calls. I’ve fallen off a moving ATV. I’ve fallen asleep at the wheel. I’ve hit a divider on the highway because I didn’t change lanes soon enough. Actually, when I drive, I have this weird feeling in my chest, like I just want to let it fly beyond my ability to control it, like the car will fly into the dark abyss that is the night sky and carry me somewhere all the things that don’t really matter that are stressing me out will disappear, leaving only the things that really count. Anyways, I’ve had a lot of reminders that I could die any time and that I’m being held in reserve for something that I don’t see yet.
Isn’t that how it always is? You don’t die until it’s your time.
In the mean time, my dad rushed to the hospital to make sure that I was really OK and wasn’t just saying so. I know I couldn’t live with myself if I made his worst fears come true. I don’t want to do this any more, though, because I have a really strong feeling that I can’t. Just like your body forces you to sleep before you die of sleep deprivation by making you hallucinate and stuff, I think that this whole ‘vicariously’ living from midterm to midterm, paper to paper will result in me getting myself kicked out before it really becomes too much for me to handle.
Because of my experiences, I have this perception that everyone who looks put together on the outside, walking on the street, chatting with friends, playing with their dogs… I think that inside, they’re also falling apart. And they’re not falling apart because Grandma died. They’re falling apart because some small thing is gnawing at them. Maybe they’re also worried that everyone sees their social ineptitude and finds them selfish or plain annoying, and that’s why they front so strong like they don’t care. Maybe they’re addicted to the internet and hate themselves for it, and want to be free of it. Maybe they hate their successes and wish they went for something that they were actually interested in. Maybe they have so many things that they want to do, like reading 10 books a week, like learning a new sport, like reliving the time that they felt like they could do anything, like writing a story… so many things and they can’t do a single one of them or feel obliged to abstain. I don’t know. It’s how I stop myself from going all the way to the thought that I’ve been set up to be miserable.
I’m dragging my feet through life. I’m supposed to be young, but I feel old. And the reason that I feel old is not because I’ve been through so much but because I’m just atrophying away. I want to be energetic, smile and make faces without caring if I look stupid, and make something myself. Instead, I’m just withering away and there’s just one thin strand of sanity left. It’s strong because it’s founded on all the right things, but it’s weak because there’s not much of it.
I’m not always this way. A lot of times, I’m straight up elated. But right now, I’m in the dumps about something stupid, and I can’t unwrap myself from the thought. And I feel like I shouldn’t be allowed to be depressed because somewhere out there, someone is being killed, someone is being raped, someone is terminally ill, someone hasn’t eaten properly for months. Somebody is out there, who would swap with me in an instant, whom I wouldn’t swap places with for anything. Sometimes, I think my family tries too hard to be good to this bitter old-young sinner because how else would I have ended up in a situation where I’m not happy with what I have? Yet it doesn’t make me feel a mite more grateful.
The things that are possible appeared impossible, and the thought made the possible become impossible. Time is moving slowly for me right now, yet it’s also too fast for me because I want it to just stop so I can take a nice, long nap.