only three

Only three this month-I'm slacking off, in life in general. I am not ready for the intense extended essay writing that will happen this weekend, the college essay writing that will hopefully happen and be completed this weekend, the everything else that is going on at the same time. I need to be more diligent, not rely on the adrenaline rush of stress to get work done, get things done earlier so that my insides aren't eaten alive by what I am feeling. I don't want to grow up and be responsible-to have all of these things that I have to do. c yet again halfheartedly tried to get me to skip school, though all the while she knew that we wouldn't, that we never do and probably never will. I think we need to think about skipping school to prevent ourselves from actually doing it-if I start asking myself why I do everything, would I ever get anything done?

streetcar

Writing here again, accidentally on purpose, when I should be writing about Blanche and Stanley, the moth and the Man, feels more right. I don't want to talk about the "palpable tension in the air" any more, I think it's more worth it to read the play than my essay about the play anyway, and is there any other way to show that I get it, I know, their worlds are irreconcilable, I know. I know that. How can they not be? I know I need to finish, I know I need to sleep, to eat, to dream so that I have enough energy to get up and do it all over again, riding my bike to school, going through another day of the same classes, doing more homework, practicing violin, the same worries about college and my life and school now repeating in an endless loop in my head, failing to sleep and eat the way I am supposed to, finally sleeping again. why why why-cue mental temper tantrum, because my mushy brain (everyone's brain is mushy) has lost the will to send out electrical impulses, I've lost the will to think and be and here I am now, nearing this point of Done-ness, my eyelids heavy with lost time.

I couldn't sleep again last night, and the spell checker is stuck on French spelling so everything I am writing now is underlined in squiggly red, like everything is wrong wrong wrong. I have dread in my stomach again, the place where it always lies, like a large stone that I swallowed inadvertently. I don't know how to make it go away, or how to be happy, or unstressed, or not worried, because it's always there, in my stomach. It's almost as bad as the dread I felt when I was little, the kind that I wasn't aware of because it was always there, and only realized it had been there after it had gone, when I flinched at loud noises and didn't realize that I'd been doing it until after I had stopped. It's back and I'm afraid I can't ever make it go away.