each day

I wake up, tangled in my scratchy comforter, check the clock (it's never later than seven,) and gaze at the bold-print marker scrawl on my white board. "CHIN UP," it reads, and the more I see it the more I feel like I'm mocking myself. A book or two fall to the already littered floor as I rouse myself for tea. Another day, another nail in the coffin.

It's not all bad, I suppose. I have people and ideas to keep me company, and blank paper to excite me.

Actually, it is all that bad. I can't continue to allow people to make important decisions for me, as I've been doing since I can remember. I have to let go of my seemingly perpetual despondence and accept that there are, in fact, things I can do. I do not want to "make it through" my life as if it were some kind of punishment or inevitable hardship, like nearly all the adults in my life tell me.

So, I'm going to take charge of this tiny ship and let it be known that I'll be deciding where it sails, blissfully ignoring the parts of myself that lack confidence.

So yes. I've decided for myself that I will make better use of my time and opt out of what's expected of me, starting the next semester. And let me tell you, it feels good.

It feels good (to be perfectly descriptive) to know that there are always things I can do and make for myself, and eventually for everyone around me.