Everlong

"Hello Brooklyn, Hey L.A."

It's tiring. Everything. Waking up. Falling asleep. I can't wait until I have enough money, and I can leave here. I'm living in New Jersey. I'm 600 or so miles away from the most northern part of Maine. Now, I see both Maine and New York City as my getaways. I travel to Maine nearly every year. Do I call it my other home? No. That name belongs to the cities. Now, those cities I'm talking about are Philadelphia and New York City, for instance. I went to Philly when I was 11, twice. I fell in love. I was a crazy little kid, with blue hair. I went to see and meet my favorite band at the time, and that city was the best place to do so.

Time to give you the lowdown of NYC. I left a piece of me there. An irreplaceable piece, which only comes back when I return there. It's almost scary. Now that I know that NYC is the place that American tourism bases off, I also see why things are so expensive to obtain there. Even something like a home. A job. A life. You almost have to be that news anchor... that movie star. That famous dancer. Or you have to be that well paid (I'm guessing) FAO Schwarz dude that sells life-sized giraffes to people. It's just how things work out. However, I also see the downsides to NYC. I'm not a germaphobe, but the grime and grit on the walls and floors of the subways can be gross. The first time I arrived in NYC, I was around 9 years old. When I arrived in the main subway station, there were rats, and water dripping from the ceilings. They're not even ceilings, and they reminded me of cave ceilings.

Back to the tired thing. It's sad, because I'm young. I have potential. However, I have no way to use it. Generation X. We're lost; or am I only speaking for myself? Yes I'm lost, and I have been. I feel that you're lost until you travel to somewhere of your choice, and then get lost. Actually lost. To the point where you need to ask for directions. The understanding that you have no clue what the next day will be like. And not always mentally lost. Physically. I say that because it's not always the mentally lost thing, it's the physically lost. Those two aspects of 'lost' are one of the biggest comparisons in my vocabulary. That's even bigger than comparing Haribo gummy bears to the cheap store brand ones. There's no comparison.

It's going to keep always going back to what we were all taught as children. We're told to respect our elders, follow the rules, don't lie and follow our dreams. We weren't told then that we can't grow up to Princes and Princesses. Biggest lie in the history of all childhood lies from our parents? That we have to realize that our dreams may not be realistic. My dreams by this age were to have a job. Maybe run away. Buy things without the help of my parents. But it doesn't work like that, sadly. You end up staying at home with your parents longer than you'd ever hope, (which will probably annoy my parents way more) and not getting a job until you're fully 'educated'. My dreams were to have a band. That lasted... for a short time. I wanted to live alone, in a high-rise apartment with my bed overlooking the street below. Instead, what do I have? I have a twin sized bed. Overlooking my clothes baskets. In a single story house. With my parents.

Don't get me wrong. I don't hate my parents or anything. I'm just trying to save them from having a complete breakdown about why I'm so messed up. Hospital stays, therapy appointments, medications. I tend to worry too much, stutter, mix up my words and spew too much sarcasm. Every sarcastic statement ends in a smirk from my father and a straight face from my mother. My father may move the newspaper down a little bit, and my mom fill in another word on her crossword puzzle. My life is so predictable. I laugh at my own jokes and the criticize myself for even making the joke in the first place. I laugh before I say the joke, and it makes it so i can't actually tell the joke. It happens every time. My life is so predictable.

My sense of humor probably doesn't help either. My humor either pertains to thoughts about myself or the classic 'dad' jokes. ("oh gosh, I'm cold." Dad: Hello, cold, I'm Dad.) Or, I make jokes about those bands I listen to and movies I watch. That doesn't work because I listen to the least well-known alternative/Indie music on the scene. Also, the movies I watch are kid's movies that are filled with 'punny' jokes and bad stories. Yeah, I'd agree that my sense of humor may suck at times. However, I'm probably more funny than that old lady talking about her granddaughter going to the park for the first time. (I realize that you didn't find it funny, and you still don't.)

So today, my day consisted of simple things I needed to get done. I went to a party, and for once in a while, I felt like the youngest, awkwardest one there. Never mind, the 'awkward' part is always there. But in general, I'm always the one standing in the corner holding a glass of vanilla Coca Cola whilst others have fun. It always happens. My life is so predictable. I end up texting others that weren't able to attend, and it always results in my phone dying. It seems to happen, maybe, two hours before I need to go, so the time just flies away. Nearly every single time, I'm the one who talks quietly and never speaks an understandable word in a conversation. I guess I have issues with that. I am so predictable.

I also tend to get into conversations with the deep and philosophical people. That goes all haywire when I bring up the fact that "aliens haven't invaded our planet for one reason. Our difference in the light years in distance makes it so they think that we still have dinosaurs". This confuses most, but there's only really two people that I can have one of those conversations with. One of them, I call The Westerner. She's the female Einstein, in my eyes. She'll tell you want you need to hear. The Westerner is honest. She's the punk rock girl that everyone needs as a friend. Her heart is in California, where she left it, in the redwood forests next to an ocean. Even though I've scared her and worried her so much, she's right by my side. We've went to school together since sixth grade.

The Westerner. The one with the long, strawberry blonde hair, growing in through the bleached hair. The one that'd rather be there at a concert, or long boarding down the street in her Vans. They always seems to have a wound of some sort on their knees, every summer. They take risks. They don't trust easily. However, the Westerner is the friend everyone wants.
I feel like I need to explain myself some. I'm a tall, small bodied girl. I'm that brown eyed, brown haired chick that keeps to her ways. I tend to go out of my way for other people. That's messed me up a few times, but hey, I like making people happy. Everything I do is for others. I tend to care more about others than I care about myself. I eat well, exercise, but my thoughts take over. Suddenly, I'm overweight, unhealthy, and in my own mind. My thoughts are going 1,000 miles per hour, and I get impulsive. I play music, but Sussex County is in the middle of nowhere.

And there you have it, another reason why I need to leave this town. My goals are to leave, and live in San Fransisco. However, leaving may need to happen soon; before New Jersey eats me away, like what the salty, humid air does to the old pieces of metal alongside the ocean. If I stay here much longer, things may get worse. My only outlet, music, is not something that can be pursued in northern New Jersey. It's sad because I'm different; unlike most in this place. People in New Jersey tend to be the redneck type, and even cold and nasty. No offense to 'New Jersians'. I can't surround myself with all that. It doesn't work. The Poison(s) are the people I'm talking about.

It's just how it goes. Things like these. Little hints from those people, trying to tell you that they wouldn't care if you died. It's a terrible situation, but I have to live with it, because I'm not dying with it. And even ever since I was young, I knew people would hate me. Someone would hate me to the point that they'd want me dead. Dead. Yeah, like not living. It isn't even just people drama, with women arguing and the men smirking on the sidelines. It's The Poison(s), those people that are in your brain, on your mind, telling you these things that no one needs to hear. The worst part is that it's all said in hints. If The Poison(s) said it straightforward, I'd be more than okay with it. I may even agree with them. And in all honesty, The Poison(s) would probably hate my guts less. They're the reason that I need to leave this town. This city. This state.

You didn't read that wrong. Yes, I said need. I need to leave this town. I can't just run away though. There's too many responsibilities. Or maybe that's the reason that I need to leave. Things are getting overwhelming. Maybe, just maybe I can sneak out tonight. Maybe I could go out and spend time with a few other inoperative, stupid human beings. It wouldn't be a big deal, my parents wouldn't even know that I left. That makes me think. I have a car. I'm 17. One more year and I can legally leave. That's considering I don't go missing before then. It's currently March 16th, at 8:09 PM. That means that there is roughly...256 days before my birthday. I'm sitting at the table, in my kitchen, typing on my computer. In the back of my mind, I want to leave. Never mind, it's on the tip of my tongue, and I'm ready to tell my mother. I've mentioned it repeatedly to her, since I was 14. Maybe it wouldn't be a shock. Maybe they could let me leave early. To live in my car for two hundred and fifty six days. I say two hundred and fifty because I'll give my parents six days to decide. Yes, I know, 6 days isn't that much. Neither is two hundred and fifty, in the long run.