reach for the gold ring

I have too much on my mind to be able to think or process anything. I feel as if taking a pen to paper will distract me from the other things that need to be done but somehow this is different. I am in flux. My thoughts whirl and tend to escape me before I can understand them, finish them, put them away, and then return to repeat the cycle.

I am developing a– something for someone and it is far from my expectations of myself and it is far from my expectations of the world. He is far away and it is silly and impossible to be falling for him, because if I feel as though I am, I am not. I am falling for the image of him in my head as that image speaks the words the boy types. It’s frustrating to wonder what could have been if timing was right and if I weren’t so solidly changeable. It’s frustrating to have to wait to see what’s actually true because who knows what else can change in the time that’s left? And in the meanwhile I still have this wanting to at least see, hear, touch the boy in my mind.

I am nervous about something that won’t happen so being nervous about it is silly; it’s a moot point, whatever. Nonetheless if she ever does get the more possible of the two things she wants from him, I cannot be what she needs. I cannot be more or give more or do more than he, and I do not think I am capable of accepting the things that would need to be accepted. I talk a good game about these things but when actions matter I still only have my words.

There is also the prospect of the can-of-worms girl, and how now that can is open and there are worms everywhere, like some kind of invertebrate battleground after the war ends. There are still, however, landmines and other dangerous things and I am frightened and frustrated. She is silly and also completely correct. I want to do what she says we shouldn’t and I know I shouldn’t because I have no reasons, or wrong reasons, and the reasons not to are sensible. And yet.

Meanwhile I have this niggling feeling that my carefully constructed web of untold truths, all the veils I’ve delicately laid over my mother’s eyes, that these things are about to be ripped, torn down, destroyed. A conclusion will be formed by her parents and before she has time to break their rules and squeeze past her punishment, a phone call will be made. That will not break everything, not by itself. But it is that one jenga block holding the building up, somewhere near the bottom, and things suddenly start to shake as you slide it out, and then somebody sneezes and it collapses.

And it feels like Friday night but is actually Thursday night and I haven’t done my homework or the week-late math puzzles. I just want to go to bed and not think. I am thinking too much.

Three days ago I had philosophical-type discussions about love and the human capability to love and to accept and relationships on a swingset.

For a week or more I have been wondering about the negative effects of self-confidence. I decided that it is worth it to be confident in things that are true, even if they are not permanent. If the people around you cannot accept the impermanence of anything and everything about you then maybe you should walk away. Understanding is not necessary. I rarely understand anything, but I try very hard to say “Yes” because life is like improv comedy: don’t say no. Accept everything, don’t ask too many questions, give information. So I am trying to do these things and expect others to do them too and not worry when I can’t explain myself because all the words are wrong.

28, 51, 71. will it help? I hope so.