Ten years since I was fifteen, and yet here I am still here propped up on the same shoulder in bed writing a stupid little thing when I should be sleeping, wearing the exact same tiny pokemon sleepshorts. It's funny how much everything can change and nothing really at all.
What a vague, fussy little thing this blog is sometimes. I wish it were funny or insightful or that I talked about things other than my cards and dumb emotions, but I guess this is right where I am just now. It's funny how in some rare moments you can see yourself, your whole life and what you are to everyone and even to yourself, with perfect impunity. I think I had one of those moments today when we were walking downtown.
If this were my usual sort of post, I'd tell you why the planets right now are perfect for me. Cold, awake, hungry and reasonable. I do feel finally proper myself for the first time this summer.
Speaking of seeing myself, though, I actually have had a "true" out of body experience once, but it's an embarrassing story so I don't like to tell it. I guess I was about fifteen or sixteen, and I was into this boy from work who was much older and cooler than I was. Except, the thing was, he wasn't cooler at all, but sort of a short little hobbit dip with wide, buggy eyes and, as I recall, terrible, small, stunted hands. Awful hands are a dealbreaker for me in men; I haven't felt up to unpacking that. That said, returning to my story, I had yet to discover self-esteem and I didn't know much about boys at that point. (Compared to now, the future, when I know absolutely nothing about them.) So when he asked me to go for a walk with him at this park I was absolutely dazzled and not a small bit confused.
He was older, so the whole time I felt like we were about to get into trouble and the dull roar of nerdish anxiety increased in my ears as we walked. By the time we reached this one bench, I was clammy and stammering. He kept looking at me sideways with his big weird eyes and I kept trying to turn my body so I was looking at him too. A lesser super power I have developed is to know when a boy is about to kiss me, and it was going off pretty bad, but I was so muddled up and confused because didn'theknowIwasadorkomg.
Finally, growing irritated with my playing the accidental coquette, he snapped "Stop moving, Goddamnit, I'm trying to kiss you!" and so I held still and he inevitably kissed me. And that was when the out of body thing happened. It was just as they described on wikipedia. I remember feeling a tipping over feeling, and then looking down at us from about five foot up, my gawky fifteenish self on the bench with this dumb boy that I didn't even like except that I thought I was supposed to.
It was only a kiss so there wasn't much to see, and if that was my one time to leave my body and look down on my life, it sure felt like I wasted it. I have had much, much better kisses since then; I've had kisses good enough to kill me, but I've never left my body. A few weeks later, that same boy would call the whole boyfriend/girlfriend thing off, and oh, I was so, so devastated. I remember asking over and over "but I thought you loved me!" like the most pathetic creature in the world. Even now, saying that word makes me feel embarrassed, like it will be thrown back at me.
So that's an awkward story about my teenaged years that I'm writing for penitence for not updating this thing enough lately.
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