perpetual motion & W1L 017: Write one leaf about Friday.

Six years ago today, I wrote in my diary
MAN HARRY POTTER!! seems the rumors say Dumbledore will die. NO!!! I actually think that makes a lot of sense, but I dont' want it to happen. sadness. okay. i'm trying to break myself down and rebuild the way i want to be. so. yeah! yeah. yeah!
...I obviously haven't changed much because 1) I still keep a diary, 2) I still geek out over Harry Potter, 3) I still geek out over plot theories (e. g. the current season of Doctor Who), and 4) I am still in perpetual motion.

Evidence of perpetual motion: Exhibit A, how poorly cobbled-together this outfit is, and the fact that I still chose to blog about it.

Further evidence of perpetual motion: Exhibit B, a layered turtleneck a la Sam in First Grade; and Exhibit C, outfit detail photo focused on the background instead of the outfit detail.

Turtleneck: secondhand, gift. Sweater: uncle's. Shorts: Alloy. Tights: secondhand, gift. Boots: Steven by Steve Madden. Photography expertise: School of Life.

W1L 017: Write one leaf about Friday.

Despite my temptation to rewrite this and make it about Rebecca Black, here's an unedited version of my original response to this prompt.
“Well," said Pooh, "what I like best," and then he had to stop and think. Because although Eating Honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn't know what it was called.
That summarizes how I feel about Fridays. Which is to say, Fridays are nice and all the generic connotations that come with being a nice thing, like nice guys and nice places, but Thursdays – Thursdays are brilliant. And sexy. Not unlike some people. On Thursdays, I wake up at 6:30, go to class for four and a half hours, probably sleeping for at least half of one of them, wait four hours for my last class, and spend 4 – 5 fidgeting in my seat but mentally scarily focused on our discussion about metaphors or conceptual blends or something, because I’m waiting for Thursday to be over and it is knowing that there will be respite that is my personal brand of Ritalin, and (oh-oh-oh) I’m on fire.

Because Thursday is delicious and it is all anticipation. On Thursday, you can stay up too late and it won’t be too late because you can sleep the whole goddamn weekend after you get through Friday, which is one of those running-on-pure-adrenaline-and-sugary-snacks days. Thursday is getting ready for the big downhill, like when you were little and sitting in the back seat, when you went up a hill and you knew there was a moment coming when it would feel like you went over the hill but your stomach stayed behind for a bit before deciding to rejoin the rest of your organs.

Yeah, I like Thursdays. By Thursday I’ve finished all my reading for the week, but it’s too early to think about all my homework due on Monday. Thursday is that delicate state of equilibrium when I am caught up with schoolwork. On Thursdays, I can splurge. I can afford to sleep later, or procrastinate on my work, or (luxury of all luxuries) go out to eat.

And I find a mildly perturbing sense of satisfaction from waking up before the sun does and proceeding to stay up too late, and depriving myself a little because the anticipation of sleep and my eventual rest on Friday night is better than the actual thing.

I fucking love the slow tease.

And this is probably why I pine after gay, married, significantly older, significantly younger, famous, uninterested, and otherwise unavailable men.

Sometimes my idea of unavailable runs along the lines of “so ugly, will only ever achieve Friend Zone status, so not worth bothering with,” which is kind of horrible and not actually true of anyone, but it is how I reason my way into Okay To Flirt With territory. No, yeah. I’m expert at Friend Zoning boys. I suck at Friend Zoning men. I don’t know any men. I don’t know how to flirt with people I’m interested in. I am like a fifth-grader.

Sometimes my idea of unavailable is more like unattainable, which is also why I completely shut down extremely attractive people. I mean, why would they be interested?

And then I think to myself that I am this way because we accept the love we think we deserve, and then I think how fucking dramatic, you need to get laid.
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