Counting

I feel like I'm thirteen years old again. My entire life is consumed by something that doesn't really matter. I'm desperate to find what I'm actually searching for, or to even just figure out what that is. There are so many places I want to be and even more people I want to be with. I can't pin point anything because it always come right back to here and you.

There are things I miss and things I want back every single second of my life. Then sometimes I think I'll find those all again if I move up north by myself, where no one really konws me. Another piece of me thinks I belong down south, with someone I really care about.. but is that what I really want? Then the last piece of me, the piece that I'm always trying to shut up, is telling me that there's so much unfinished business where I am now. Am I ready to leave Philadelphia? Really, have I explored it for all that it's worth? Could I spend the following years drinking forties with these people? Probably not. I want more than that to myself, but nothing feels right anymore. I just don't know what I want at all. I wish I could be in a million different places at once. I feel like I'm running out of time. I'm channeling all of this confusion into me obsessively dieting/working out every day. It's an easy way to remind myself that at least I'm still in control of something, even if it's making me miserable.

I think what I need now more than anything, is to get on a bus with just my backpack and go visit a good friend in Baltimore. Or I need Stay Sweet, where I'll be surrounded by people that I love and hopefully it will remind me of what I really want to be doing. As of right now, all I want is my own little apartment with house plants and my cat. I want to go to bed at 10 o'clock, make myself all my meals, and get straight A's. Sometimes, I think this is all I'm ever really capable of.

I feel like crying.