When you are a child you cannot have a brownie before dinner. You cannot go to Katie’s house at 10pm when tomorrow is a Wednesday and there is school in the morning. You learn what is taught, and Miss Abbott tells you to get your coat and you go to recess. You move in a crowd with all the others. At fifteen, you fall madly in love for a boy who might as well be on the other side of the earth and your heart burns to be next to his. You grow and wait and grow and change and wait until it is possible to be in the same room as him, though it is never quite enough, and you like this feeling. You go to the wrong college and leave school entirely — it feels dirty and shameful and not like you at all, but then it is the first time in your life you have done something of your own will. You feel alive. Disappointment dwells on your doorstep, but, it is your doorstep and you fully believe that there is nothing anyone can do to take that away.
This is the happiest time of your life. Your life. Because it is uncontrollable, unpredictable, you are poor and hungry and live off of cigarettes and loud music and the company of your best friend and those that you invite inside to entertain you. You are indestructible. You have not changed yet.
It is three years later when you are sitting on a couch in a very different house which you have known since you were born. This is home now, textbooks carpet your bedroom floor, there is food in the pantry and you know exactly what you must do tomorrow and the next day and the next and the next and… You ask and you wonder why no one else hovers above themselves and watches their movements when they get up in the morning, feeling that being awake is no different from being in bed. This is a mid-life crisis at age 22. And aside from out-of-body experiences, you are an addict who is always searching for that perfect high (figuratively speaking), who never reaches climax. You vigorously exercise to feel something, and the closest you come to feeling anything inside is when you listen to music and remember being fifteen again.
At the end of the day you know you will wait until spring to graduate into the recession — which is unexciting. But after you will flee this boring comfort you have grown accustomed to and hopefully feel alive again, somewhere else and balancing with slippery feet upon the edge of a boat. And you cannot wait to fall in.