My Life in a Few Lengthy and Bitterly-Sardonic Sentences Slash Incomplete and Incoherently Babbling Thoughts

A stream of streetlights flows off on some distant horizon
each one smaller and more like the prick of a pin than the last
they go off to who knows where
stopping who knows when
and though I see them from my window
every morning and every afternoon and even in the early evenings
I never really see them, do I?
Never really see them, never really see the road
only the sky and the buildings they are tucked behind,
and in the foreground only the trees and the brick and the people smoking on the rooftops
the cars and busses and bicycles and trains
but in the small hours,
on the rare night I turn out the light and peel back the curtains
then do I reveal the road.
the road I never see, whose name I do not know,
who goes in a direction I am never sure I'd go,
the road who might be going south, or east, or north or west, but I don't have a compass
certainly not with me now, in the small hours,
staring into the horizon I forget about
at the road I can never see when the sun is out
and it is alone in this dark I feel a grinding, a boiling,
in my stomach, in my heart,
some kind of memory evoked
of those same lights passing me by
at some godforsaken hour and I wonder, when is this from?
because it seems like forever I've been here
walking against the night, or avoiding the eye of the old man on the bus
or being tossed left right left front back on the subway
so when was this time when I passed these lights,
one by one each appearing before me, beside me, behind me,
its absence only mourned momentarily till the appearance of the next
cool breeze on my face maybe,
or the lull of an engine or the purr of a heater
music sometimes, too, but mostly quiet
and maybe I am alone and tense, eyes darting and gripping the wheel
or maybe I am beside, legs tucked, eyelids leaden
maybe I am crying and trying to forget, screaming a prayer or a curse
maybe I am punchy and laughing and wishing the moment would never end
it might be work I am riding away from, or maybe a night out with friends,
maybe a school function or a trip to the store,
or a family gathering, or a trip to the beach
I am going fast now, with a purpose, with a plan
I am strolling now, slowly, taking in the scenery
it is 6pm, 8pm, 10pm, midnight, two,
I am four, I am ten, I am thirteen, eighteen,
I am coming from anywhere, coming from anything,
there are x numbers of cars around, y people in the car, I'm on highway z
all that matters are the orange streetlights overhead,
they come, they go, then comes another
they come until it is dark for a while and we are guided only by the headlights
they come until I am off the exit ramp, off the main roads,
they come until the engine shuts off, until I slam the car door, until I am home.
I am three again, eight, twelve, seventeen,
it is winter, summer, spring, fall
I am with my mother, father, sister, brother, or maybe alone
I'm sleepy, I'm electrified, I'm crying, I'm laughing,
I am everything all as once
standing at the window in the darkened room with the peeled back curtains
I am all the things I have ever been under those lights.
I am all of those people who are simultaneously, in different times, driving home.
I am all of them, but also, I am here, stationary,
living, breathing, now, no longer a child,
but till counting the stream of yellow-orange lights.

I am writing to inform you that your recent behavior, although it represents a noble attempt at making everything better, is actually making everything worse. I am well aware that you are a little bit on the sensitive side, which has gotten you-and, let's face it, me-into tons of trouble. The fact that I historically freak out over minor things like calling for take-out indicated that the whole transitioning to college thing would be a bit too much for you and me to handle.

See, I know what you're trying to do, but it's really not helping. It was fine last week, because the situation amended itself. For whatever reason, you chose "Spanish Class" as the object of your focus, distracting from all other things. It put me relatively at ease in all other situations, but the mere thought of Spanish class, the spanish language, spanish people or the spanish-speaking countries made me weak in the knees as I quietly excused myself and ran off to the lavatory. The situation amended itself, eventually. I got my spanish book in the mail. No more anxiety.

Your next focus- "what the HELL am I going to do this weekend?"-ended when the relatively successful weekend did. Stressor number three, whether or not to stick with my psychology lecture, was amended when I decided "I can fix this and there is no way in hell I m going to let it stress me out." So fix it I did. No more stress, barring the slight nerves before lecture yesterday, which went away the moment the professor started quacking and I calmly affirmed to myself: "Yes. I am in the right place."

But THIS, autonomic nervous system? Really? I am completely and utterly NOT a fan of this stressor.

I mean, I can talk to the cute boy in the elevator without so much as stumbling over my words, and when it goes poorly, I'm unaffected. I can say something stupid in class and feel fine about it. Or spill something on myself. Or blow my nose loudly. Or walk around late-nite, by myself, in ridiculous pajamas. Really. It would be so empowering if it weren't so goddamn upsetting where you have directed your nerves.

Not that I don't understand it. I DO. I think I kind of get why you have chosen to glom onto THIS particular situation to TOTALLY FLIP THE HELL OUT over. I mean, it began so fantastically well. I had a solidly good, stress-free hour and a half. I felt like myself for the first time in a while. It was all too good to be true.

I know you are freaking out because you fear me fucking up like I have in the past. That's why I can smile and be friendly to the weird hairy guy who I for some indiscernible reason gave my phone number to, walk all the way to the dorm and become friendly with a girl who I thought found me annoying. I have no anxiety in those areas because I see very little opportunity for total awesomeness and complete and utter failure. It stresses me out because I met someone who is so bizarrely and randomly compatible with me that I am afraid to say something stupid. A new bestest friend, maybe?

Well autonomic nervous system! I'm just writign you this letter to let you know that I am not going to be freaking out anymore. I am not fucking this up anymore. I won't. There's too much of my sanity at stake.

If you're going to make my palms sweaty every time I randomly happen to see this person in the street or in the hall before I mentally decide whether I'll be coming off weird to smile and say hi, please restrain yourself. I'll be saying hello. If there's time, I'll even say "how are you?" It's really quite simple. If you're going to drive me to want to look at the ground, too, wondering if eye contact could be avoided--which you DID today, by the way, BAD autonomic nervous system, bad!--please cut that out. Eye contact will be established. I'm not going to be weird.

Thank you for being there and trying to look out for me, autonomic nervous system. I know all you're trying to do is prevent me from entering a situation where you think I might screw up. But I won't screw up. So kindly devote your attention to something else, like worrying about whether I'll lose my balance in the shower and fall onto the glass door and push it open and wind up on the grimy bathroom floor wet, naked and squealing.

Regards,
the Frontal Lobe.

orange is the colour of minor annoyance.

KIIIIIIIIIIIIIILLLLL JEEEEEEEEEEESSSSUUUUUUUUUSSSSS

and also pour boiling water over plantsssss D: