For the first time in my life, I am Normal.
Like something straight out of a cheesy American movie plot - of a type so depressing you dare not shed tears - my existence staged its peak during high school. (Aren't I too young to be going through a midlife crisis?) These college days have filtered by in a succession of multi-colored pixels compressed to form teenage girls in sailor outfits, and I don't remember anything huge or life changing that happened to me in the last four years. No falling in and out of love. No tears caused by an intrepid, close-knit Catholic school faculty. Definitely no lasting effort to reinvent myself for my own sake. For four years, life just happened. Only it didn't happen remarkably enough.
I would offer my entire Harry Potter collection - novellas and all - to be one of those girls who bloom in college. The type to excel so rapidly my progress'll shock everyone. The type to register any progress at all. But I'm past my prime. I've shown all I could show in high school, when my world was smaller, and the other fish liked my scales well enough to think they shine. Here, in the microcosm of the bigger world, I am fish feed. I am the wriggling worm whales look at when they're unsure of their size. And when they see me, their doubts evaporate. Yes. Compared to some, I'm good enough. Or so I think a whale would think.
Consider this my rant page. Or a neon-flagged blog post in a sea of angst-filled soliloquys. The cutesy, witty site mast fooled you, dinnit? I'm your resident Holden Caulfield, just less eloquent. A perfect, well-balanced life can do tortures to an idle brain.
Here's to hoping I'm just hormonal.
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