Kick Drum Heart


Arrivederci, il mio amore

I’m done.

I’m through.

It’s over.

I’m finished trying to run, finished trying to control, and finished trying to be independent. Trying to be a grown-up. Let fate fall where it may, and I guess I’m leaning against the old fallback of “if God wills it.”

But seriously. At this point, if God wills it, I’ll be one intensely blessed grateful dumb shit.

I’m done.

I’m done with pretending that I’m an adult. I’m not, okay? So get over it and leave me alone. I’m struggling to get into a college that I know I’m not prepared for in a competitive world that’s waiting with eager, dripping jaws to eat me alive. I’m not ready.

I’m through.

I’m through sitting back and letting my hundreds of responsibilities run amok over me. It’s partially my fault through disorganization, partially my fault through neglect. I’m doing so much I can’t focus on the important things. If something doesn’t go, I will. I’ll go insane. So I’m through being trampled by my own many loves and passions, and I’m through being choked and hung by the dramas of my friends and school life. I’ve got to distance myself from it, before it gets me. If I don’t focus, and work my ass off on the thing that is most important, I won’t get anywhere. Ever.

It’s over.

So it’s over, kids, and here I am typing as a shakily resolute and keenly terrified individual who’s not grown up and who’s ready to practice and who really just wants to stay home and love her life and her family in peace.

But Time and Nature won’t allow it. So ready or not, I’m out in less than a year. If I go to a shitty school, well hey, that’s my own fault. Goodbye, Eastman. Nice looking at your name on the website, C.I.M. I wish I would have been good enough. I’m sorry for wasting your time, Heather. I’m deeply sorry, Mrs. Ripley.

What happens, happens. If I can’t contact anyone and have them be my savior with my transcript and SAT score report today, then I am fucked. And who can or will help me, the irresponsible procrastinator who is falsely deluding herself that she can make it in the vicious world of music?

I just want to sing. And that will probably never happen now, because I’m a fucking retard.

So guess what.

I’m done.



Why, that’s absurd (Blogging at 5:00 AM on a Sunday from a shitty, borrowed laptop)

I don’t know if there’s a better reason for being up this early other than I can’t fall back to sleep, but I didn’t want to take the chance that there was. It sounds stupid, but I don’t want to miss a thing… I’m reading The Irresistible Revolution right now and Brendan was right, it does change you. Already I am searching hard at my life, looking for ways that God can use me. I have the inkling I’m looking a little too closely, but I’d rather try and look too hard than not at all. Although, isn’t God the one who will find service and drop it in my lap? See, I don’t know. So I’m confused and starting to get eye and soul strain, here.

Oh, and I think I was trying to text in my sleep again. Cait wasn’t here last night to check on me, but I woke up and my phone was next to me instead of shoved back way under my pillow, so I was moving around pretty forcefully, at least.

I love sleep. I don’t want to give up sleeping because I act like a moron and can’t stop from growling out names and trying to contact people in the dead of the night. How absurd.

The word “absurd” makes me think of “Titanic,” and Rose. “Why that’s absurd!”

I wish I had a Jack (preferably one that wouldn’t sink). I think he’d be a lot of fun, and he’d think I was fun too so there would be no issue. He wouldn’t be too hesistant or too much of a whore. He would want to talk to me or screw me in a car, depending on the moment. We’d have a lot of good times. He wouldn’t expect commitment or a solemn vow of dedication and devotion– he would adore me in the moment, just as I would him. He would understand that there was only one life to live and enjoy, and he’d want to spend a few short moments of his with me.

That, to me, is the perfect balance in a guy. Not too flighty, so I think I’m cheap, but not that willing to settle down, either. I don’t want to feel trapped. I don’t want to have to spend every waking moment thinking about one person and how they feel and what they think and how best to please them. I want, for once, for someone to want to please me but not want to commit to anything serious. I thought boys liked to be considerate sluts?

I’m not saying I want someone for a fuck-and-run. I don’t want to spend time with a guy I can’t respect or have a decent conversation with. But there should be some kind of happy medium, an easy chemistry that doesn’t require too much input from either of us. I want a friend who likes to kiss me, I guess. Haha.

Whatever, I don’t know what I’m talking about. I’m probably not posting this. At least not until eight o’ clock, anyway. I might go back to sleep. God will find me, I hope. Or else I’ll keep searching, just not when I’m on six hours of sleep on a Sunday morning. Good night.