Sometimes I Feel Fourteen (Like Tonight)

Today was the last day of high school for the TCHS class of 2009.

A little less than twelve months ago, I was leaving too.

After the 3:30 bell rang, I circled the foyer and said goodbye to the lion. My friends and I, grouped together for the last time, trading stories, laughs, general geniality. Anticipating the cruise we were embarking on in two days, not really considering this to be our last hurrah; the sadness not creeping in.

Truth be told. I was never sad about leaving high school. I wasn't sad the last day, i wasn't sad at baccalaureate, and I was so preoccupied with other things that I barely remember graduation.

I remember getting my diploma, head shorn, nose making me look like the eagle from the muppets, smiles, handshakes, awkward hug, and sitting down, filing out sound by side, strictly regimented joyless hat throw, then changing into my scorpion shirt and cargos, blasting Work, heading to the reception, nauseos.

(i just burned my wrist on a foreman grill)

Looking at my table, receiving my gifts (entirely gracious), flashes (the camera kind, not the good kind), stupid conversations, driving to the party, half-hearted basketball, stale cookies, dominating at ping-pong, nausea, lying on the sidewalk, stars, clouds, and jimmy eat world, lindsey comforts, back inside, pineapples, yelling, chickening out, chickening in, an hour of emotion, driving, waiting, cuban cigars, vomit, home, bed.

I guess I miss it sometimes now. That mischevious camraderie is gone forever.

I had a good night tonight.

I went to Mcalister's and enjoyed a corned beef on rye with mustard. I went with my most complicated best friend. We chatted, we caught up, we enjoyed each other's company. I told stories, she pretended to be interested. It was pleasant, we arranged to meet again soon and often. I loved it.

One bit sticks at me. It's a common enough bit. Nothing important. I dismissed it. Now, at night, alone with my xbox and kevin spacey, it bothers me. It shouldn't, why am I not the sweetest? (My sweetness is not the bothersome bit).

I feel like fourteen year old me is still around.

Braces, long hair, black shirts and insecurites. Flirting over aim, making stupid videos, and staring at the pretty girl across the room; hoping we grow up together.

More than any of my peers, i think the pretty girl made me grow up.

It bothers me that I have not kissed a girl in six years.

It bothers me that I think about things too much.

It bothers me that I think about things that do not exist.

It bothers me that I try to wish things into existence.

Tonight I am pretending that I am the sweetest boy she's ever met. (But I'm Not)

It bothers me that I burned my wrist.

I'm just concerned that, despite what she says and I think, I'm not mature enough to not take it personally.

I think romantically, I am still very much fourteen.

I believe that leaving will help. Being away from all but two people I know. I will have to grow up.

(I just had a chat with miss lindsey)

Lindsey says this should be exciting. It terrifies me. I am bad at making friends. I am awkward and I don't speak well and I'm sweaty and fidgety.

(For the past few days I have been listening to the same forty-five seconds of Ben Gibbard playing Brand New Colony acoustically over and over)

Sebastian weighed in on my melancholy, "Why are girls so retarded with that shit? She obviously knows you've got feelings. Its like they do it to be mean."

I claim that I have matured beyond taking everything personally and he rebuts with, "Whatever. No one does."

He has a point.

I am an unfair man.

I expect too much of everyone but myself. (not true, i expect a lot from me, but i actually live up to my expectations of myself)

I blame books and movies.

We've been over this months ago.

I won't lie, I am developing a self satisfied smirk. It's a little comforting. Actually, in an odd way, hugely comforting that the Magic B, has kind of returned full cycle. Like a pathetic phoenix, he rises and falls.

I don't know. I am much more cheerful now, I have high hopes for tomorrow. Thank you for accompanying me on my lonely little late night trip down memory lane.

You are my favorites, readers; welcome to my livejournal.

Song Lyrics (THEY MEAN SO MUCH!)

hello bloggersphere.


(I'll be the grapes fermented bottled and served with a table set in my finest suit like a perfect gentleman).

I decided to write tonight because I am a little bored and I took a rather extensive nap this afternoon and then drank a Red Bull to orient myself.

I think that I will forever enjoy that bubble-gummy tang of Red Bull, as I used to be known to chug a can at 6am before I went to work. This kept me sharp and focused when I was browsing the internet and looking disinterested.

I am done with my first year of college and now it's summertime.

When I was a younger man, full of both vim and varying amounts of vigor, I used to very much anticipate and romanticize this particular season.

I used to have a playlist devoted to songs about summer. It was pretty rad.

Selections include, "Summertime" by Mae, "Warmth of the Sand" by Dashboard Confessional, "Summer Skin" by Death Cab, &c.

Back before I realized I was lacking some attributes necessary to be a musician (sex appeal, talent) I wanted to name my first EP "Songs about Summer" (applying both to the season and Rachel Bilson, I was a big O.C. fan).

Now that I am a college student and blogger (futurely famous) summer is not so exciting. It's basically the same as the school year, except with more work and platonic fake-dates.

(Right now, I am listening to Ben Gibbard, courtesy of NPR: Live Concerts, I can see why Zooey would marry him, even though he looks vaguely like a giant baby) .

My brain is sleepy right now, I can't really focus on anything, facebook chat, ichat, and itunes are all distracting me from the Magic Blog. I like the color blue, it brings out my eyes.

So, as you all probably know from following me on twitter/reading it on perez hilton, I am moving to Austin in August to attend the University of Texas.

I will miss my friends but I'm sure there are all new adventures to be had five hundred miles away. (Perhaps Spike Jonze will make a movie about it?).

I don't have much to say about it yet. I haven't really hit the emotional impact stage of processing this change yet. It's all just facts and organizing, cars and bikes and beds.

Sometimes, I wonder why I wanted to leave, others I feel spectacularly certain.

I don't really feel sad. I've just kind of accepted it passively, in the back of my brain, I know that leaving the BFC will be tough, but that is how life operates.

I can only hope that by leaving, I will gain an exotic sexiness that I can then use to manipulate female friends from Lubbock into kissing me with tongue.

(Ben is covering Nirvana)

I don't know that I think as much as I did when I started KMB(NAM), I used to just kind of mull things over in my brain until I pulped them into e-ink that I could transfer to mr. blogger. Now I'm just running on instinct, taking things as they come robotically.

I kind of imagine that on days I work, it will be like this, it's the only way to endure eight hours of pretty boring desk managing, and maybe i'll be super intellectual on my days off. (We can only hope).

KMB has kind of deviated from its central purpose. Which was to be openly and sickeningly honest with the e-denizens of Lubbock and beyond (Colorado).

I don't know if it's better or not. But I suppose I will drop a little honesty on my e-friends.

This week I am going to see Voldemort for the first time in a long time. I am conflicted about this. Not in the Mean Girls, catty sense of betrayal way that used to accompany my encounters with her, but in ways that I can't phrase eloquently.

I am very excited and happy to see her, and I appreciate the turn our relationship has taken into what I feel is more genuine territory.

But I am worried. What if, (apologies to my beloved susie) I fuck it up?

I am worried that I will go all were-idiot, and fall into my old selfish ways, bring back the whole "If I can't date you I will be an insufferable prick" motif I had rocking for a while. I used to think it was interesting and dramatic, but have recently realized it wasn't very nice.

It's hard to explain how you appreciate people. Sometimes you just have to write about it on the internet and hope they read it and pick up the paragraphs between the lines that you don't know how to articulate. (e-ticulate?)

(Brand New Colony makes me want to be a better person, which used to be my justification for a lot of things, including, being a dick, ironic, in an alanis morissete kind of way).

But as for my arrangment with the dark lord. There's something that concerns me almost more than acting like an idiot (which is fairly inevitable).

And it's something that's been nagging at me. (I wanna be the fire escape that's bolted to the ancient brick where you can sit and contemplate your day).

What if I decide that it's not worth it.

It's no secret that I have devoted inordinate amounts of time and emotional energy to one person. And, what's bugging me is, I really don't want to exert that effort again.

What if, in the presence of this person that galvanized this adolescent fire in me, i realize that I don't want to try it again.

Who is done with love at twenty?

At the same time, as I'm rediscovering my teenage years with the advance of summer (rejuveniling) I'm kind of feeling that cheesy, self sacrificial itch that songwriters can sing about but sounds retarded coming from anyone else.

I kind of want to be that guy again. I need to find some girl to force my self-sacrificial nature on.

I want to be the platform shoes that undo what heredity has done to you so you won't have to strain to look into my eyes (not necessary, i'm average height).

I blame the music, stop making heartache so appealing.

(I'll be the water wings that save you if you start drowning in an open tap when your judgment's on the brink)

I've been listening to the same forty-five seconds of the same postal service song for the past hour.

I like it, if nothing else, it's familiar, and not so roboty.