Entry #3

Dear World,

Tomorrow is my last day of school. I am thrilled and terrified at the same time. I LOVE school, but I am ready to leave for the summer. I am going to miss Solo (the name I'm going to call my track coach on this blog) so much. She has been a mother to me this year. I don't know if I would've made it through the year without her. I'll probably end up seeing her once or twice this summer, but not seeing her everyday is going to be hard for a little bit. I don't like change.

I got to see Wilder and Cheeky today. They brighten my day. Wilder was well behaved, to my astonishment. They help show me what the true definition of love is.

Running is a GINORMOUS part of my life. UGGHHH. I LOVE running so much, and I love competing, and I love training, but I really want to quit my team next year. I adore my coaches, but this year has been too hard for me to handle. I actually believed that I could be good. haha. It is hilarious to think I actually believed that when looking back at my season now. I let my mind get the best of me, but I don't know how to stop it. I will always be fucked up. WOOHOO. I wish I could pray again. I don't think God has it in him to love a selfish gay teen, so I won't bother.

On my run today, I was happy. I didn't look at my watch, didn't track my pace, and based it entirely off of what I felt. It was spectacular. It made me want to race. Then I remembered how I fucked up my opportunity to compete on a high level when I had it.


What is wrong with me?

Entry #2

Dear World,

Today is Sunday.

I used to love Sundays. Now I hate Sundays.

Maybe one day I will love Sundays again.

I finished reading book #1 today. I started book #2.

Book #1. Freedom Writers: A beautiful compilation of diary entries of disadvantaged teens. It caused me to consider becoming a high school English teacher in the future. I hate how I complain about stupid, meaningless, petty things. I don't want to be an advantaged white girl who does nothing to save the world. I'm going to use my power to help others.

Book #2. Cranked: I am about halfway finished with this story. I can't seem to put it down. It is a terrifying portrayal of "the monster". Give hugs, don't take drugs.

I didn't run today. Running and I have a strenuous relationship. I love running, training, and competing. I hate caring about how I race, and I am still smoldering in the ashes of my disastrous spring track season. Of my junior year. The most important year in recruiting. I fucked up. I'm not going to be able to run competitively in college. I LOVE running. I just wish that I didn't give a damn about how I perform. Caring only hurts me. Whenever I care about something, I screw it up. Every person that I have cared about has had something tragic happen to them or has left. It's better if I don't care. But I do. I am human. It sucks.

This year, I tried to learn how to love. It worked, to an extent. I am not broken, but rather, I am bruised. Bruises heal. At least that is what I tell myself.

Wilder gives me hope. I look forward to teaching him. He deserves the world. I don't know how I will one day love my kids more than I love him.

Maybe tomorrow I will write my opinion on a subject. Maybe not. This is my blog. I make the rules.