Changes

I've grown rusty and unused to summoning words from a blank page - but FINALLY - there's something new to describe. School (11th grade) is over - at last - and... more. There's a party tonight - a REAL, honest-to-God, in person, PARTY - for about 30 of us. Yes, vaccinations are documented. Life seems to be beginning again. I'm eager, like a boxer before the bell or a racehorse at the starting gate. I'm an animal, long constrained, who knows it's about to be set free. I'm as disorientated as an awakened dreamer and I find myself laughing, drunk with possibilities as I try on clothes for preliminary impressions. It's hard to quash tremors of impatience. I'm sick of helpless, indifferent, pandemic necessity. I'm SO tired of boredom, circling me like a vulture, in my panopticon palace - that I opted for a respite of pure terror - I'm SO clever. I'm skipping my senior year of high school and heading off to university. I'd rather die than risk spending another year in my room(s) - I almost went crazy . There's a paper on my desk, white as a bride. It says "ACCEPTED for fall term 2021." I’m trying not to let on that I’m afraid. Is desire always a tangle of impossible, contradictory impulses? I've decided that my life is my only real possession - my own, small, life-or-death riddle to solve. I want to live with intent, like I'm aimed at something and I'm going to chase happiness like it could be caught. My luggage is open - like alligator jaws. I stare into those tan, Ghurka depths - rigid with anxiety. My sister (home on vacation from her surgical residency) sees me eyeing the empty bags. "Are you worried?” She says, “You look worried." I normally find the sister-teacher-coach vibe irritating, but now, somehow, it seems reassuring. "No," I lie - then - "A bit," I admit, close-lipped. But that's a later worry =] p.s. I write short stories too =]