So we're done? This the real shit?
We used to hold hands like field trips.
- Childish Gambino, Heartbeat
Confession.
The biggest reason why I didn't like Childish Gambino: because you did.
Oh, how could a woman love a man so much, yet despise him so fervently at the same time?
Now that I'm no longer deflecting my hate towards you onto him, I can actually appreciate the artistic quality of his music.
Now, we roll down the windows, and yell out in war cries, as if in rebellion against my past, against our present, and against all future.
I wanted you to know
That I am ready to go, heartbeat
A heartbeat
"You know this song, Christa?"
-- "Haha. Yeah. Yeah, I do."
-+-
-- "RLY?"
"yeah truth"
-- "dude... thanks."
Finally, there is the inevitable, meaningless, petty, shallow, unspoken war that must always happen in these types of situations. Females, amirite?
Also, my community of support appreciation friendship love is pretty boss. It's flattering enough that there's someone in every universe that is willing to help me pick myself off the floor. But then there's also those special few, that then not only help me find my way back, but even journey with me, and fight alongside me. And even though it varies in degree, all of it has value.
"HOME SLICE, WE ARE TRUE BUDDIES. WTF"
-+-
I am intelligent and educated enough to understand that correlation does not equal causation. I know the illusions that can be created through statistics. I know the risks in making psychological leaps and conclusions.
This is counter-intuitive to knowledge.
I would fumble with the collar of my dress, or with the buttons of my phone, or with the keys of my laptop, flustered and taken aback, "What should I do?!"
"Nothing," he would state, "You don't have to do anything."
"But," I would return, "I can't be such a... such a dick! I just can't be not nice!" He's one of my best friends, and one of my measures of pure comfort with a person is how freely I use vulgarity. I don't strew four-letter words between every vowel, but I do scatter the occasional curse word when I have conversations with myself, and I apply the same relaxation when he's sitting at the other side of the room, practicing Organic Chemistry mechanism problems on his whiteboard.
I remember the first time I went, "What the shit, man?" and he stopped the conversation, "Did you just say 'shit'? It's so weird hearing you cuss, Christa."
But while leaning against his bed as he worked through O-Chem, my Immunology textbook laid on my lap, I tapped my thumbs against my cell phone, staring at the messages that concurrently read both so enigmatically and so familiarly. Meanwhile, I worked through my laptop, surfing through the old banes and the old vices.
He pouted at me, "Why would you do that to yourself?"
The usual answer when I'm backed into a corner.
"I don't know."
I saw resolve. To decide between staying in and watching Bones, or the untamed, heartless alternative. There was just no question, whatsoever.
It's hard to deny my state of mind now. There is a great amount of relief in finding yourself again. In arming yourself with sword and shield, fighting your fights, and battling your battles. In learning that your bad month was really just a bad month. The new year has brought up both a whirlpool of change and a constant mountain, and it's impossible to overlook anything -- the mistakes, the events out of my control, the patterns, the coincidences. And especially: the correlations.
So, in the context of the hurricanes eyeing me outside, these transient yet everlasting late nights of quiet quarantine have been a godsend. Thank goodness for a mental break under a familiar wing.
And now, I have a hugely busy and demanding week ahead of me. Midterms, a high-stake deadline, and two of the biggest protocols of my entire experiment, all wrapped up nicely in what can only be accurately described as "Hell Week."
But I gotchu, brah. I gotchu. Hell Week will become "Christa Totally Dominates" Week -- or at least I sure can dream work my hardest towards!