24

Hot summer, with mosquitoes thick in the red gold air of late afternoon. Everything is heavy, languid, weighed down with residual heat and lazy words.
She sat on the front steps, getting the last of the sun from the West coming in between the neighbours houses. It lay like a blanket over her bare legs and arms, and who wouldn't revel in that feeling? She had a cold beer in one hand, a book in the other, and her dog at her feet. Happiness, deep and wide, consumed her belly.
But there was that niggling hole. That little worm of restlessness, of discontent. It wasn't enough. What she had, who she was, where she was headed- it was not what she needed, what she desired. How to put it into words- when she was Good, she was very, very Good.
For a while, at least. When she was doing everything she was supposed to, had all her relationships lined up in a row, all her accomplishments polished, all her kind-hearted selfless acts acted, she was joyful for a time. But. She became bored. The restlessness increased, her pacing up and down of hallways, kitchens, streets, became faster and faster, her sense of control seemed to slip away, and soon she was like a frantic dog locked in a car- barking nonsensically, panting, frantic, afraid.
When she was Bad, she was Horrid.
And so she would run. She would go out with friends and sprint ahead, jump on things, jump off things, smash plates and bottles, flirt and tease and laugh inappropriately. All the things she had formerly prioritized as important she would analyze and come to the conclusion that in the long scheme of things they really didn't matter. What mattered now was movement, and connections, and stretching yourself until you collapsed, and stretching those connections until they snapped, exhausted, sweating, crying, laughing, shouting, whispering. Enough with stillness, enough with calm, enough with peace.
Enough of sitting in one place.
But.
Sitting in the sun, on a early summer evening, she was happy. And for then, and for now, that was enough.

Studying

I have this wild restless feeling that comes when the day is sunny and warm, and there is a cold wind blowing. There are no connections tying me to home, no connections to Italy, no connections to the ground. I could easily start screaming. My whole body longs to jump up from the table where I am studying and start to run.
Oh, studying. Sitting on a hard wooden bench, shoulders slumped over a computer or book, body temperature dropping from lack of movement until your hands are cold and clammy. Goosebumps and a deep bone chill, but with circles of sweat under your arms. Evenly distributed throughout the room are more poor souls like myself, heads down, ipods plugged in. Your eyeballs are dry, your brain fried. You are hungry, tired, thirsty. But it's my mind that hurts the most. I can't read another single word, yet I continue to try, the words bouncing off my retinas basically, brain matter unable to absorb anymore. IT IS SO DRY. WHY DO THEY USE SUCH BIG WORDS??? ARE THEY TRYING TO MAKE ME GO CRAZY?!
Facebook calls; you go and get a coffee. All of the sudden cleaning your room, the bathroom, the walls, anything seems more appealing than trying to make sense of and memorize dates/names/ideas.

At this moment, I would rather watch paint dry than still be sitting here. I would rather try to eat sawdust. I would rather wait for a pot of water to boil dry. I would rather watch golf, no, curling. I would rather move a hill of sand from one spot to another using only tweezers, or empty a well using an eyedropper.
Instead, I am staring at the dust motes illuminated in the ray of sunlight by my head, and imagining breathing all of that in.
Sigh.
Ok, back to the books.