#I drank to much redbull I’m going insane

[st4rrrdestroya]

I keep seeing the assigning things to band members but this entered my mind suddenly and made me giggle

Lola as bubble yum

[moldisgoodforyou]

request: finals week with charlie and JJ? i just feel like one of the two would take it too far with the caffeine at 2 am in the library and the other would pass out on the floor

charlie called jj at midnight. she had been camping out at the library like it was her job for the past two weeks, much to jj’s disappointment. 

“sup, pretty girl?” he mumbled, half-asleep. 

“are you sleeping?” charlie asked, incredulous. 

“yeah, it’s midnight on a tuesday. I studied for an hour, I’m tired.” 

“I literally hate you.” charlie groaned. “can you come see me?” she heard shuffling in the background. 

“I’m going to give that a pass just for finals week. be there soon.” 

twenty minutes later, jj arrived with two redbulls and two starbucks drinks. he was dressed in grey sweatpants and an old sweatshirt, hair a mess like he had literally just rolled out of bed. (he had.) he strolled up behind charlie at her usual spot in the library and set the drinks on the table, then wrapped his arms around her from behind and kissed her temple. “still working, walker?” 

she sighed softly, closing her eyes as she leaned back into his touch. “this paper is driving me insane.” he pulled out the seat next to her, handing her one of the starbucks drinks. “I brought you coffee.” charlie yawned, taking a sip. “oh my god, I love you. I was about to fall asleep.” he laughed, taking the other drink. “you just said you hated me.” 

“I’m exhausted, don’t hold it against me. what did you get?” jj grinned, tapping his cup with hers in a cheers. “hot chocolate. are you still working on that thing for anatomy?” she shook her head. “no, I’m in clinical research methods now. that 20-page paper.” he wrinkled his nose. “gross. how long do you think you’ll be up?” he glanced over at the word document illuminating her screen. 

“I have twelve pages left. so...probably all night. is the redbull for me too?” she reached for a can but jj snatched it away. “only if you’re desperate. get to work and see if you can go to bed first.” she wrinkled her nose but nodded. “what are you gonna do?” he pulled a pillow out of his backpack. “sleep. keep you company.” 

she raised her eyebrows. “how’s that gonna help me?” he shrugged, setting the pillow on the table and laying his head down. “it’s more helpful than writing your paper.” she reached out, ruffling his hair affectionately. “sweet dreams, j.” she got a mumbled reply back as jj closed his eyes, drifting back off to sleep again. 

two hours later, charlie shook jj awake, the empty coffee cup and two empty redbulls cans pushed aside. “wha?” he grumbled, cracking one eye open. her eyes were a little crazy and her hands were jittering. “I finished!” he sat up slowly, looking her over. “can we go to bed now?” she shook her head. “no, I feel so...alive. like I could literally run a marathon. I’m gonna get a head start on my other paper.” jj reached over, snapping her laptop shut. “you need sleep, char.” he paused, seeing the empty cans. “you drank all of those?” she nodded, grinning, and he groaned, standing. “right, that’s it, we’re leaving.”

“no! I can knock out so much work!” she protested, but not resisting as JJ packed up her things in her backpack and lifted her by the waist from her chair. “we’re going to bed. I can’t sleep without you.” she grinned. “wait, really?” he ran his hand through his hair and made it stick up even more, still half-asleep. “yes, and it’s an issue. come on.” he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her away. “aw, maybank, you love me,” she teased. he ruffled her hair, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I know, I’m fucking whipped.” 

“but it’s worth it, right?” 

he nudged his nose against hers. “100%.” 

[collapsingintojupiter]

Hey wonderful human being! How are ya? If ya want a writing ask, I have a challenge for you: Ok so - what if there was a child side called Love who was created when Thomas entered a relationship? How would the others react? Does she have powers like the rest of them? What happens when Thomas is single again and they poof? Just a fun idea for you. Bye, friend!

You're so sweet fam <3 I loved exploring this, and while the style wasn't originally what I was going for I actually like it. Hope you enjoy it too!

Also a quick note: I'm writing this as an aro-ace that's literally never had a s/o or been on a date and frankly never wants to be. So...yeah. This should be interesting lol.

***

Characters: Thomas, Patton, Logan, Roman, Virgil, Deceit, and of course Love.

Relationships: Just the good ol platonic LAMP

Warnings: Major character death.

***

He came after the third date. 

Thomas was talking with the other Sides in his living room about it, nervous but excited. Jeremy seemed like an awesome guy; handsome, funny, kind, and a huge Disney fan to boot (the most important characteristic, as Roman often proclaimed). Just thinking about him made Thomas' heart flutter. And even better than that, Jeremy seemed to like Thomas too. Their most recent date had gone quite well, but as always there were things to discuss.

The living room conversation quickly became another bickering match.

Virgil was nervous, as always. He's gonna leave us eventually, something's gonna come up. He'll hate us. He'll leave us. So much could go wrong.

Roman was excited, proposing dozens of grand gestures to Thomas--everything from a candle-lit dinner to tickets to Disney Land. Logan was irritated because he was also trying to plan Thomas and Jeremy's wedding--they've only just met, it's far too early to think about this, he grumbled.

Patton was acting like a five-year old on Redbull. He was talking so fast that nobody could understand him at all, and the others wondered if what he was saying would make sense even if they could hear him.

"GUYS, HE'S THE ONE! HE'S THE ONE!" A sudden shriek ripped through the apartment, and everyone jumped as another Side suddenly appeared on the couch. It was a new one, one that Thomas had never seen before. This one was wearing a pink flowery shirt with a collar, and somehow looked even more excited about what was happening than Patton.

Perhaps that was the most surprising thing about him--the new Side didn't seem to be evil or bad at all, no malicious intent lurking behind scales or chaos wrapped in green. If anything, this Side looked like he was nothing but a ball of pure energy.

"Who…?" Thomas' jaw dropped. "Who?" He looked around at the others.

Logan looked even more irritated.

Roman looked delighted.

Patton was grinning from ear to ear.

Virgil had a look on his face that was something between "not again" and "why me?"

"You don't know me?" The new Side looked hurt. "Has it really been so long?"

"GUYS!" Thomas shouted, desperate for an answer. "Can somebody tell me who he is!?"

Logan was the first to snap out of it, gesturing to the pink-clad Side with one hand and a sigh.

"Thomas... I'd like to introduce you to Love."

---

Love was confusing. That was normal though, Patton explained, once Virgil and Logan had calmed him down enough to where the moral side could speak coherently. Logan told Thomas that he'd get used to the pink one in time.

Thomas sure hoped that he was right.

Days and dates passed. Every moment with Jeremy felt like a new adventure, full of incredible moments and smiles and joking laughter. Love drank it all in, and if anything being around Jeremy seemed to add to his already-inexhaustible energy. 

Thomas did get used to him in time, just as Logan had promised. He was loud and demanding, yet gentle and kind. He was crazy, but loyal; impulsive and yet patient. So many things at once. So many confusing things at once. 

Neither Virgil nor Logan liked Love much. That wasn't terribly surprising though; Love was too illogical and nonsensical and emotional for Logan, too impulsive and reckless and wild for Virgil. Everything he did he did insanely, all the way, over the top. Not to mention that every time he got excited, it was pretty much a guarantee that Virgil and Logan would both be shut down. There wasn't room for fear in love; no room for reason. No wonder he and Roman got along so well--they practically fed off each other, throwing ideas back and forth until Thomas' head spun.

And through all of it Patton was just...confused. More than on average, you might say. 

Love makes you do crazy things, makes you feel strange things for people. Patton didn't understand it at all.

And it was great, for a while. Exhilaratinlg, even. Thomas didn't remember a time when he was so excited about life, so ready for it. With the energy of this new Side he felt like he could conquer the world.

Logan tried to warn Thomas.

So did Virgil.

Nothing prepared Thomas for the day Jeremy came to him with tears in his eyes; the day his heart broke when the man he loved more than anything told him that he was leaving. Leaving and, more importantly...never coming back.

There was crying in the mindpalace that night. Thomas' apartment was filled with quiet sobs, sobs that shook his body and made him feel like he couldn't breathe. 

Go back! Love was screaming. You can't let him go! You have to go back! 

Roman was crushed, and understandably so. Patton was speechless; after the swamp of emotions that had nearly drowned him he was suddenly numb, and that made Thomas numb too. Virgil had nothing to say; Logan had nothing to say. They'd already tried.

Love cried for days. But, as those days became weeks and months, the others noticed his demands, his pleas, his begging become weaker. 

And weaker. 

And weaker.

And when the realization of what was happening hit Thomas, it was somehow both horrifying and more comforting than he would've liked it to be.

Love was fading. Dying, he said. Logan explained to Thomas that the Sides didn't actually die, such wasn't possible at least in the way humans think of it, but that wasn't as comforting at it should have been. Thomas didn't want Love to be there anymore after what had happened and yet...part of him begged for it to stay.

Roman was devastated to see it all happen, and he acted like it. He knew what was happening and he knew he couldn't stop it but...God he wished there was something he could do. Anything. He'd do anything. Deceit promised that Love wouldn't go and what was another broken promise, on top of all the others he'd made to Thomas; to Roman; to himself. 

None of that mattered, of course. Eventually Love stopped appearing in the mindpalace altogether, and even though he didn't want to Thomas missed the pink flower-shirted Side; even Virgil eventually admitted to missing hearing his voice. All they could remember of it now was how strangled it had sounded the last time Love was there.

Don't worry though, Patton promised Thomas.

That's the thing about Love. It's fickle; always changing. 

But it always comes back.

___

There you go, hope you enjoyed. ^^

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If you’d like to see more of my writing, feel free to send me a prompt! I don’t just do Sanders Sides, so go ahead and ask away! I’ll see what I can do with it lol, I really love writing and sharing my work with you guys.

Taglist.

@antisocialsilvermermaid @just-perhaps @ghostintimelostintime

[internet----girlfriend-blog]

On Saying Goodbye, or Making Meaning Out of Nothing

   I’ve never been great at saying goodbyes. Generally, I will stand around uncomfortably and shift myself closer and closer to the door until I can escape. With phone conversations, it’s even worse. It’s not that I don’t want to talk, it’s just that I can’t deal with the silence that comes before saying goodbye.  Most people who know me understand by now that they can expect an abrupt hang-up instead of a goodbye. I think this is mostly because I have an irrational fear of permanence and would rather leave abruptly than face the absoluteness that comes with a goodbye. This is probably because I am mostly a very overdramatic Sagittarius and I watch too many movies.

   I moved out of my parents’ house for the first time when I was eighteen. Within a week of graduating high school I was in the next state over. I didn’t have a hard time saying goodbye to my family but I cried like a baby when I hugged our dog for the last time before leaving. At least my mom could text; the dog didn’t have thumbs. I had expectations that this move would be much more emotional and dramatic, maybe even grandiose, but it was quiet and calm and unassuming. Again, I watch too many movies. I backed out of the driveway in my Kia and tried not to think about our dog. This was my first goodbye that ever really mattered; if you ask my Aquarius mother, it is the only goodbye that’s mattered so far.   

   While trying to escape the small town I grew up in, I ended up in an even smaller town. The name of this town is irrelevant because it’s so small that Google Maps won’t even recognize it as a real place. The deluxe Sheetz gas station was the main attraction, and the closest grocery store was a forty-five minute drive away.  I lived with my first serious boyfriend in this town. He was the first Aries I dated. We stayed in a large apartment over a lawyer’s office and in the summer I sat in front of the windows and listened to people shout and argue with each other about things that I didn’t understand at the time. Our neighbors were visited by the cops almost weekly because their fights got so bad that someone always ended up getting hit. I spent a lot of nights in my room with my ear pressed to the wall, listening to their fighting and learning all of their intimate secrets.  I didn’t think this was weird at the time. Our lease ended the following summer and, no longer fueled by the intensity of the honeymoon phase of our relationship, we decided to part ways. I didn’t cry once but he did keep my record collection, which hurt more than anything else.  I drove back to Ohio in the same Kia and tried not to think about my limited-press editions that I would never see again. This was my second goodbye that ever really seemed to matter.

   I moved back into my parents’ house when I was nineteen. I stayed in their attic and drove twenty-five minutes to work in Cleveland every day. I worked in a tiny restaurant that made most of its money from breakfast rushes and overpriced alcohol. It sat on the corner of Detroit Ave and bragged about the “friendly neighborhood atmosphere” more than embodied it.  I wasn’t allowed to park in the parking lot of this tiny restaurant and I acquired more parking tickets in that time than tip money. The men who worked in the kitchen would crudely talk about my haircut and my facial piercings and the way my ass looked in skinny jeans. The turnover rate was incredibly high, mostly due to the fact that the woman who owned the restaurant was batshit fucking insane and known to be violent.  I quit my job at this tiny restaurant when I was twenty and still living at home. I quit in the middle of a particularly hectic morning shift when I dropped a Bloody Mary on the floor and the owner called me an idiot in front of customers. The Bloody Mary shattered on the floor and stained my white Vans with tomato juice. I walked out, collected the parking ticket from my windshield, and drove home. I was never able to get the stains out of my shoes; it almost felt like one final “fuck you” from the tiny restaurant. This goodbye doesn’t really matter that much now but it felt like it mattered at the time.

   I moved out of my parents’ house for the second time when I was twenty. I lived in an apartment in Cleveland Heights with three other people that I didn’t really know. The apartment was overpriced with high ceilings and narrow hallways. There was always trash everywhere and the kitchen smelled like rotting food. A rice cooker sat in the corner, generally filled with molding rice. The bathroom had a standing shower with a perpetually clogged drain and dirty clothes covered the floor. I was a freshman in college and I spent most of my time at the school to avoid being in the gross apartment. I stayed over at friend’s places and only came home when absolutely necessary. I smoked a lot of weed and did a lot of acid and didn’t sleep and lived off of Clif bars and sugar-free Redbull. I broke up with my then-boyfriend because he was cheating on me with a woman twentyish years older than me. She was a sexually robust woman in her forties who went by the name Bunny and she had a daughter who was also older than me at the time. We met at a mutual friend’s party and she introduced herself by telling me that my boyfriend was good with his tongue. This initially confused me because mostly, I just thought he tasted like Marlboro Reds. I smoke American Spirits. He was the second Aries I dated, coincidentally with the same first name as the first Aries. I never spoke to him again. This goodbye mattered because I no longer had anybody to bring me free weed and help me build IKEA furniture in my shitty apartment.

   I turned twenty-one over the winter break of my freshman year of college. I was living with my parents again, after leaving the shitty apartment during Thanksgiving break. All of my friends were out of state so I bought myself a cheap bottle of gas station wine and invited a boy from Tinder over to my house. We made out on the couch and I knew he was going to hurt me. He did. He was a poet and a playwright with a big ego and a vaguely Italian-sounding name. He lived with his mom and did stand-up comedy on the weekends. I will never trust a stand-up comedian. He was a Capricorn, which also cannot be trusted.  He made fun of me for listening to emo music and I made fun of him for liking musical theater. We went on for months, sleeping together and refusing to acknowledge the fact that we were sleeping together. I moved into an apartment on Coventry while I was still seeing him and he would come over to drink and argue with my Pisces friends. He had a girlfriend almost the entirety of the time I was seeing him. We didn’t know about each other. She was a Gemini. I found out he had graciously given me an STD months after we had already stopped talking. He still follows me on Instagram. This goodbye was extremely prolonged and painful and overdramatic. This was the kind of goodbye I had been expecting when I left home for the first time, but instead it was with a dumb boy. It still mattered, probably.

   I moved out of Cleveland Heights the week before the end of my sophomore year of college. I left behind an apartment that never really felt like home and moved into another apartment that sometimes feels like home. I left behind my bitterness and anger but managed to pick up uncertainty and consistent self-doubt along the way. I moved into a big, old apartment building in Shaker Heights with my (very recently) ex-boyfriend. The first night in our new place we got a pizza and tried to coax my cat out from hiding in the furniture. I cried because I knew I was going to feel trapped, not unlike my cat, probably. I cried because I thought about my mom and how sad I make her. I cried because I knew nothing was ever going to be enough for me. I chalked it up to the fact that I am an overdramatic Sagittarius and ignored those feelings for five more months. I felt like this was a goodbye that mattered, but I’m not exactly sure what I said goodbye to. I’m still trying to figure it out, but I probably never will.

   I spent the summer in this apartment in Shaker Heights doing nothing and taking care of plants and my cat, who’s a Gemini. I drank a lot of wine in the evenings and stopped eating and started sleeping too much. I ignored my friends and didn’t pick up the phone or text anyone back. I only left the house to go to work and came back immediately after my shifts, feeling too anxious to be outside or in public alone. I laid in bed at night, sweating because we don’t have air conditioning, thinking about dying and what my parents would say at my funeral. This time, those thoughts didn’t feel so overdramatic, which was scary. As the summer went on, I thought less about dying and more about escaping, leaving school, leaving my job, leaving my relationship. I applied for study-abroad programs and ignored their acceptance emails. My boyfriend was working full-time, usually over-time, and so I spent most of my days completely isolated, planning my escape. I looked at apartments for rent in cities I’ve never been to, or even considered going to. I spent a weekend in Columbus and then another weekend in Detroit, always dreading coming back to Cleveland. I felt like I had been living as a ghost for the last six months of my life and I was desperately trying to figure out how to become human again. I feel like I’ve said goodbye to this image I’ve curated so carefully for myself, completely disregarding everything I thought I knew about myself and now I’m scrambling around, trying to understand what happened. This is it, this is the big one, the most melodramatic, the most important goodbye.

   I left my first serious, adult relationship last week. We were only together for a little over a year, but it felt like a lot longer. We still live together, so that’s been awkward. When the conversation actually happened, I felt less sad and more relieved. I didn’t even cry. I sat on the chair in our living room and he sat on the couch, asking me what happened. I don’t know what happened. Falling out of love is weird. Realizing that you have a better time hanging out with your friends than spending time with your partner is weird. Understanding that it’s not anyone’s fault and that two people can still care about each other very much but not be in love anymore is weird. We are both fire signs and we are both very overdramatic. And we watch too many movies. He doesn’t believe in astrology, but he’s the stereotype of a Leo. I’ve been listening to a lot of Sufjan Stevens and the National, thinking really hard about what went wrong, and where, and what we could have done to change it, or prolong it even more, or ignore it completely. This goodbye feels like a death. This goodbye will leave a lasting imprint, on both people involved. This goodbye matters.

   I’ll be turning twenty-three in a couple months. I’ve said countless goodbyes, see-yous and catch-you-laters in my life so far. I’ll say a billion more. This isn’t meant to be some deep, soul-searching essay or even a reflection. More an examination. No matter how many goodbyes I say, I know they’ll all matter, even if they become arbitrary later. I’m still not any better at saying it. I will probably never be comfortable saying it. I know I’m always going to be a melodramatic Sagittarius. Maybe someday I won’t define myself that way, but today is not that day.

[probably-enjolras]

Enjolras’ Anon part Seven!

hi friends! i’m back with another tale of Enjolras’ trying to figure out his damn feelings. it’s only 1k, but alas, I shall try for something longer tomorrow! tbh this is a bit of a filler but it’s important info but not important enough and ugh! writing is haaaaard!

if you like this and want it to continue, give me a comment on AO3!

“E-excuse me?” Enjolras stammered.

“Hoodie. Blue. Mine. On your body,” Grantaire explained, pulling on the hood. “Oh, uh, I needed something to wear today, and it was in my closet.” Enjolras would get a mental bruise from the amount of times he was mentally kicking himself.

Grantaire raised his eyebrows. “Are you ok? You seem… off,” he asked. “Me? Yeah, I’m fine. I’m great. Peachy. How are you?” Enjolras heard Courfeyrac start to giggle, and kicked him. Courfeyrac’s giggling turned into coughs instantly.

“I’m fine, I guess. Wow, is this some side effect of the drinks from last night?” Enjolras nodded quickly. “Yes, that’s exactly it! Would you excuse me for a second?” Enjolras stood up and pushed past Grantaire and into the bathroom. He sat down on one of the toilets and pulled out his phone.

Enjolras : what’s happening? I’ve lost all cool. Can you get him to go away?

Courfeyrac : ferre’s trying, gosh i wished i could have recorded all of that

Enjolras : i was not prepared!

Courfeyrac : clearly, omg you were bright red the entire time, like a tomato or a cherry

Combeferre : he’s going to talk with Bahorel, you can stop hiding in the restroom

Enjolras sighed and put away his phone. Hiding in the bathroom might be the single most embarrassing thing that’s happened to Enjolras. He walked to the sink and splashed some water on his face before leaving the room.

“You hid in a bathroom,” Combeferre stated. “Very observant of you,” Enjolras retorted. “Let me clarify. You hid in a bathroom to hide from someone you know has a crush on you, after stammering out answers to his questions, while you are wearing his hoodie.”

Enjolras groaned, resting his head on the table. “I know.” Combeferre awkwardly pat his head, looking at Courfeyrac for what to do. “You know, maybe you like him too,” Courfeyrac suggested. “No!” Enjolras cried. “I mean, maybe? I don’t know!” Enjolras put his head back on the table.

“Both of those responses lean more towards yes than you were intending,” Combeferre said. “Whatever. We’ll figure this out later. I need to lead a meeting.” Enjolras stood up and walked to the front of the room.

“Yes. He does has a crush on him,” Combeferre concluded, shaking his head. “This is going to be a long night isn’t it?”

Enjolras couldn’t focus the entire meeting. Every moment he wasn’t talking, his eyes shifted to look at Grantaire, who was always looking right back. He felt the hoodie he was wearing like it was dead weight on him. Every move he made reminded him that he was wearing Grantaire’s hoodie.

Enjolras let out a breath of relief when he was able to end the meeting. Knowing that the torture of having to face Grantaire was finally over made him want to cry.

As soon as he could, Enjolras made a beeline straight for Combeferre and Courfeyrac. “You need to calm down!” Courfeyrac whispered to him. “You look like you drank five cups of coffee mixed with redbull and your body is going into overdrive. He’s not a bomb! You can relax! If anything, you’re drawing attention to yourself!”

Enjolras took a deep breath. “I know, but something about knowing that it’s him, makes this a lot harder to deal with!” The three of them walked out of the Musain and onto the bus back to Courfeyrac’s. “At least we don’t have to whisper anymore!” Courfeyrac pointed out.

“We didn’t have to whisper in the first place,” Combeferre remarked. “Our friends are quite loud. I doubt they would have heard anything.” Enjolras rolled his eyes and sank into his seat. “Well, what happens now?”

“Either you figure out your emotions and let Grantaire know that a) you want to go out with him, or b) you’re flattered but you have to decline. Or, you can just forget all this ever happened and return to blissful ignorance.” Enjolras looked up at Combeferre, wondering if he was joking or not.

“How would I be able to just ‘forget’ about everything?” Combeferre shrugged. “I never said that was the option you had to go with. It’s just an option. Denial is a strong blinder.” Courfeyrac tapped on Enjolras’ shoulder, drawing his attention.

“Don’t listen to him. Well, kinda listen to him. The first part is what matters. We need to figure out what’s going on in that mind of yours. I suggest Buzzfeed quizzes, editions of Cosmo, and some good old fashioned truth or dare!” Enjolras raised his eyebrows. “You want us to have a sleepover?” Courfeyrac nodded excitedly. “You know I’m starting to like that denial suggestion if it means we can avoid Cosmo.”

Courfeyrac gasped, pretending to be offended. “While I don’t agree with the sleepover portion of Courfeyrac’s plan, figuring out your feelings is the best route we should take,” Combeferre replied. “How am I supposed to do that though?” Enjolras whined.  “And don’t say Cosmo or Buzzfeed.”

Courfeyrac thought for a second before saying, “Maybe you should spend more time with him.” Enjolras looked at his friend like he had gone insane. “You saw how well today went. You’re telling me I have to do that again?” Courfeyrac shrugged. “I mean, it’s really the only way. You can’t just like him in theory. If you’re potentially going to be in a relationship, you need to spend time together!”

Enjolras pouted and slouched in his chair. “I don’t even know what I’m supposed to feel! Every relationship is going to be different! If I felt one thing in my last relationship, I don’t know if I’ll feel that exact emotion again! And if I spend too much time looking for one emotion, I might overlook all the others I’m feeling or not feeling!”

Courfeyrac and Combeferre went silent, trying to figure out what would be the best plan of attack. “Well, don’t look for anything.” Courfeyrac and Enjolras turned, looking at Combeferre for an explanation.

“You said if you’re looking for something, you may overlook something else. Then don’t look for anything. Just talk with Grantaire and figure out if don’t want the conversation to end. You’ll know if you feel something, and then you can work on trying to figure out what it is afterward.”

Enjolras smiled, happy that there was a cohesive plan. “Well, I guess I need to text Grantaire.”

enjolras can’t function without a plan? also known as : me!

[ceaselessly-into-the-past]

the return

 It’s been a while since I last posted – mostly because school had gotten too busy for being too miserable, partially because I’ve managed to lock down drinking as an effective tool for handling seriously shitty times, e.g. every time I had to speak to my mother on the phone, rather than drowning in self-pity on a blog that to my knowledge only about one to two people actively read, neither of whom can do much of anything besides say ‘well that fucking sucks’. 

I’m now at a summer camp – Perlman Music Program. Thankfully alone for the most part – we’re on Shelter Island in Long Island, so my parents plan to come over once each of the following three weeks. And being alone, at this camp, I suppose that it’s an optimum time to revive the blog and give myself something to do aside from all the chamber music that I’ll be doing. 

I suppose that I’ll start, in a perhaps unusual way, with whatever comes to mind first. I don’t have a particular grievance or strong emotion that I’m dealing with tonight, for reasons which I might arrive to if it comes organically.

Going back to the drinking - an alcoholic highlight that I recall not fondly, but I suppose I could say with interest, was a night in April a few weeks before finals had begun where an hour-long, ultimately pointless conversation with my mother had left me feeling particularly destructive. (I realize now that my writing has gotten god awful and it reads like a pretentious young adult novel marketed towards impressionable 13 year old girls. Whatever. I hope it gets better). So, with that goal in mind, I went out at around 5 pm, neglecting all of my short-term responsibilities, and headed up to Heights Wines and Liquors on West 140th Street. It’s a really solid store that doesn’t card - I remember I found some decent sake there on a couple of occasions. In this case, though, I picked up a small-size bottle of Ketel One, and then a few blocks down a can of RedBull, and then a few stations down the 1 line a small mason jar.

Snap open can – empty RedBull in jar – add vodka – shake and mix – let it sit for a minute.

Three chugs down. The entire fucking world suddenly comes into focus. The freedom of the downer and the awareness of the upper combine to set my goddamn brain on fire. I am a god. I have the simple superpower of autonomy. I alone control my fate. 

I took a pleasant jog around Central Park with my mason jar of liquid fucknuts sloshing around in my hand. I waved HI to the Chinese girl two years above me at Juilliard – I remembered I once had a dream where she’d asked me out and I couldn’t believe it. She, like literally fucking everyone, was way out of my league, but fuck that, my heart is edging on insanity and I don’t give a shit – I can’t give a shit now – I’ll let my soul clench about it when I’m sober and vaguely suicidal again in 3PM ear training.

Hitting home runs in my brain. I could almost cry from how little I cared about my body, about how I looked and sounded. It didn’t matter. I was not beautiful but that instant was beautiful. 

I sat on a bench and watched the sun go down on the lake and sipped some more. I was about a quarter through.

I miss Hanna. I hope she’s well. She’s a good soul.

Holy shit that movie, that movie, what did I wanna watch, I KNOW there was something out then that I was looking forward to that I didn’t have time for. But I’d smashed a giant fucking baseball bat into the skull of my schedule - fucking buried that thing right in the brain matter of it - so I was free to do whatever. Flipping through my phone - the lights zipped by way goddamn quicker than usual like the fucking Stargate in 2001: A Space Odyssey - 

Yes - You Were Never Really Here. Starring Joaquin Phoenix of Her, of The Master, of Inherent Vice, of Signs - ha, of Brother Bear. Written and directed by Lynne Ramsay - I remembered We Need To Talk About Kevin fondly. 

(A small part of my flashing mind was annoyed that the movie, created largely by a woman, was flying so under the radar just because it wasn’t a fucking blockbuster superhero / Disney property movie. ‘More women in film’ my fucking ass - Alex Garland’s Annihilation starring almost all women, depicted as intelligent and capable scientists and totally unbound by their gender, passed with little fanfare because it was ‘too slow’ for general audiences. ‘Feminism’ in movies doesn’t count unless it’s Wonder Woman deflecting a hundred bullets with her sword or dropping down from the sky to punch a god in the face. But whatever, this is a useless tangent. Jumping this ship now.)

You Were Never Really Here is playing down at the Anjelika Film Center on West Hudson Street. Let’s fucking go. Jump on that fuckin express 3 train. Sit a little ways away from everyone - somehow I had the sense to keep my disgusting substance consumption away from innocent bysitters.

I felt a mad rush and, between 28th and 23rd, dumped about half the jar into my body. 

I stumbled out on the 18th street platform, my eyes were lasers, my blood was oil, my bones were stainless steel, my soul was the vivid sheen of a budding porn star.

I ran to the Anjelika Film Center. I could only run now - I was stuck firmly in GOGOGOGOGOGOGOGOGO. I sat on the steps, drank some ice-cold water from the thermos I had the sense to carry. Settling myself. I remembered that I’d seen The Florida Project here in the beginning of the year - what a charming film, what a touching performance. That Willem Dafoe.

Hanna would like that movie.

I go inside - a little push from the jar before the film starts, but I put it away. I need to focus on the art before me.

Yes, You Were Never Really Here was fantastic. Such a lowdown, subtle, sparse story of vengeance. 

Rundown: An ex soldier in Afghanistan breaks up a child trafficking ring. Has PTSD. Becomes a private investigator and dedicates his life to rescuing missing children from child traffickers and shitbag pedophiles. His signature is purchasing a hammer from the convenience store every job and smashing their skulls in. Pushing the girl behind him. ‘Close your eyes.’ God, Joaquin Phoenix was a miracle in that movie. 

And the most vivid and accurate depiction of panic attacks, intrusive thoughts, and anxiety I’ve ever seen in a film. It was gratifying to see my moments be understood and played out by Lynne Ramsay.

I left. Wandered around in the in betweens between Tribeca and Greenwich Village. Ended up in Madison Square Park. Chucked the jar at a brick wall to see the million pieces soar through the night like magic somewhere on the way. Took a power nap on a bench. Somehow got back to Juilliard before 1 am. Crashed. Got up at 8 am the next morning. I felt refreshed.

It was spectacular

I learned after the fact that the Vodka RedBull cocktail has a similar effect on the mind to cocaine. 

It was spectacular.

I’ve also developed a taste for Evan Williams bourbon. 

I’ve been remembering my two friends often the past few months. Wishing they could see that thing, hear what someone said in the other room. Wishing they were nearer.

One of them visited my parent’s place yesterday with one of her parents. Those three sat us all down for a dinner that turned out to be a misery of inanity - as I expected, but I feel like it was to my friend’s surprise. We shared some time alone beforehand, and it was a golden moment that I hadn’t felt since the last time I’d seen her a year previous.

I gave her some gifts I had picked out over the course of the school year. About an hour later, the dinner conversation came around to how I’m more decisive than my older brother - a topic that, much like every other topic, seemed to drag on far beyond its welcome despite its meaninglessness. I mentioned offhand how I’m more careful and deliberate with gifts and I noticed she smiled a bit from across the table. Her heart shows when she smiles. It’s warm and it glows gently.

It was a perfectly pleasant, pleasantly perfect night when all was said and done.