& it's a holiday for a hanging, yeah.

i wrote this a couple days ago.

I was supposed to post it on OKC because I haven't updated there in awhile.

But I think it's better suited to here. But I'm not sure it makes sense because this was one of those times that I was writing at like 3 am, bleary eyed, tired, and just being overcome by raw emotion that was killing me. But I'm still alive & here it is.

    I really should be studying, sleeping, reading, relaxing. Especially after my insanely busy day. But I find myself restless and any attempts at studying for a test tomorrow for the past hour or so have been futile. So I am doing the only thing I can do that can maybe quell my mind. I am writing and since I haven't updated this journal in To quote the ideology of one of my favorite writers (Palahniuk, anyone?) When did the future go from being such a promise to a threat?
This summer was supposed to be my summer of reading and writing and just living life day to day and enjoying my family and friends as much as I can because I am going to move out of state for grad school which will be the fall after this one. Some of you are like big effin' deal, you're moving. Well to me it is because I am actually loved (friends, family) by many and they don't love me just because they have big hearts, but because I loved them right back.
I was supposed to have the type of summer that is spoken about in the movie American Beauty when Lester was talking to his neighbor about how he spent all summer working at a low paying job only making enough to buy a few LP's. He didn't care because all he did was hang out with his best friends who worked with him, and party and just lived everyday as the adventure it was. I wanted that. I wanted to go out and have fun and be cool and complete personal goals in between of it, find perhaps a summer romance if I got a chance. Something light, something fun, something just for the summer. My summer, make a little money,
I got my wish. I found a retail job, enchanting every customer coming my way and then just standing around and joking with my coworkers, my partners in crime as we people watch the hours away at work. Having fun, everything going sweet. Having bookclub meetings in between taking on the city and family meals. Writing nightly, making real progress on my third book, while enjoying greatly the work of other authors.
June came along and he came along with it. My summer romance. I was thrilled, I was lust-eyed, I was ready and knew how to play this game too well. He was much more than what I wanted. Just a really beautiful person inside and out. With blue eyes, cinnamon skin, tall, and the part that made me squee with excitement is that he's a rider, writer, and a reader. That just made me play the full game on him because I was not stopping till he became my 'summerboy' (Lady Gaga song, give it a listen and try to understand). I got what I wanted. I got my summerboy, and more importantly, I finally got a lover with a motorcycle that just made me impatient to climb on behind him. So happy just to ride with him, going nowhere on his bike because I knew that it's going to be years before I even get a chance to touch one and call it my own if I was lucky enough to be in that position to learn to ride and afford that luxury of owning one.
I felt like I could breathe, like I could let go and fly going down that freeway, risking everything, going at a 140 MPH. I could close my eyes and be complete in those minutes where the world became a blurred as we both leaned forward to push it. Because only in pushing it, could we find out that we could actually breathe. That we are alive.