Among other things, the potential romance developments in Pretty Little Liars are stressing me out. I am torn, beside myself, distraught. Hanna/Wren made me “aw” in spite of myself, in spite of knowing how Hanna/Caleb is perfect and insurmountable and that time when Hanna hid in the shower, in spite of Tyler Blackburn in a knit cap, which he needs to start doing again soon. That Spencer/Caleb was even remotely hinted at as a possibility makes me ILL, so I will not speak of that here.
I’m more invested in these outcomes than I should be. I realize that now.
August has never been a good month for me. Last year I spent this month in hysterics over my health (which was fine and normal, though I didn’t believe that at the time), living alone in the most clinical-feeling place I’ve ever lived while Rylee did her internship in Chicago, bored senseless in my own internship, and simultaneously excited about big changes in my life and overwhelmed/keeled over by them. I had panic attacks at work and it felt like they lasted all day. Towards the end, before I ended up quitting earlier than I planned, I skipped out on a week of that (unpaid) job, because I couldn’t be in that cubicle anymore and because I reasoned that what little work I had to do could be done from my childhood bed in my parents’ home. I always end up needing to be babied in August.
It’s the heat, partly, because I really and truly do not think I am made for sustaining more than thirty days of 85+ degree weather in a row, much less sixty of them. In the much beloved computer game of my youth, SimPark, you picked a climate to put your nature preserve in, and the game would warn you about certain plants in your sowing stage: letting you know, for example, that if you try to plant bamboo in the desert, it probably won’t work well. I’m like that bamboo. Someone put me here, and I’m surviving mostly, but really I belong in the tundra. It’s that, and the fact that August used to make me think of going back to school, which was really more about knowing what my concrete goals were and knowing what I needed to do to accomplish them. August makes me impatient, and it got worse once I didn’t have those ends in mind anymore. I knew what success in school took and looked like. Success in school was easy. (Except for calculus, and that college class about religious mysticism. I don’t like the classes where everything is basically made up and we just have to accept it.)
Now it’s all on me, and mostly this is good and fine and most days I wake up feeling happy and excited. Not so much the last month, because now that my book is a book I have to think about starting all over again and that is SCARY. Yes, this one took me one year to finish, but what about the next? Where are my government-required (or parental-required) responsibilities that take 13+ years to achieve? How do I know what will happen two years from now? And what about after that? What do I do about the fact that I hate unanswerable questions, but cannot stop directing them towards myself???
This August is sluggish and mean. I am sick of the internet and the way it measures goodness and the way it makes me (and I’m guessing a lot of other people) question what we’re worth. In a public setting, anyway. I have deleted so many blog posts and tweets this month because they didn’t get enough/any likes or favorites, which makes me feel dumb both for posting these things in the first place and for caring. It makes me feel like a child — like I want someone to hold my hand, but also that I resent not getting to do whatever I want and having everyone be okay with that. Like someone who is ready (and needs) to go back to school.
I’m not going back. I am done for good, I think. But I am going to buy school supplies anyway, because I think I need to. I need file folders and new pens and organizers for my desk — clean, new things. Fresh start things. My desk is getting delivered in about two weeks and then I can set everything new on top of it in neat piles. I think it will be perfect timing. It will be almost September.