Observe

3:18 am

The feeling of accomplishment of being sprawled out on your bed writing is infinitely greater than the dread of the early morning I know I'll have to bare in 5-7 hours. It's 3 am and sleep refuses to consume my thoughts. Instead all I think about is how long my Pepsi slushy will last in my parents expensive thermos'. My current existence truly is an interesting one at best. Can you hear the sarcasm dripping off the end of that sentence? I can practically taste it, it's so plentiful.

School starts on the 31st and I'm eagerly awaiting the return of social activity accompanied by scary teachers and people asking why I'd like to be called Elliot rather than Maya. This next week will be a truly stunning feat of sarcasm and puns that I always seem to portray as my best armor. 

Despite the glow of my new school-issued Chromebook, my room is pitch black. The walls seem to consume all light that dares come close to it. The anxiety in my stomach has been building up more and more the later it gets, but I don't seem to care. 

Screw feeling good in the morning, I'll just get myself a coffee substitute so I can survive the the day of walking around with my best friend. 

It seems my observations have turned into a way to vent in the form of describing the assets of what's around me in my current situation. I will say though, the sound of the keys clacking against my finger tips is a liberating experience and I would definitely recommend it to those of you who write via touch screen. 

My eyes are starting to droop and strain against the power of the computer's white light. My body says sleep but my mind says write. Either is a valid escape from the ball of anxiety that the dark never fails to conjure. 

I want to say I'm a normal teenager and that I skip around school in pretty skirts and flowery shirts, but I'm not. I'm the one sitting at the back of the class intently listening to the teacher yammer on about how the civil war was an important event in american history while simultaneously wondering when the next season of supernatural will appear on Netflix and the many ironies of life. I'm the one who stays up at 3:40 am just to write his observations because he doesn't want to deal with his complex emotions that are building up by the second. I'm the one who daydreams about the feel of my boyfriends lips against mine 12 hours after the fact. I'm the one who cries themselves to sleep at night because I cant untangle the knot in my mind no matter how much yanking i do at the thread. It hurts in a figurative sense that all I am is built around being a nerd. I'm so jam packed with knowledge that it leaves me venting out all I am to people on the internet. My body is filled with a sense of relief from typing and the exhilaration takes me over the top. 

My narrations are neither poetic nor beautiful, just a voice to silence the ones crowding my head.