I can’t believe he only left yesterday, how could that be? I’m still sore from sleeping tangled together on the couch, but I don’t know when I’ll get to see him again. It makes me feel unsettled and weird and I don’t know when I’ll see anyone again, really, which makes me unsettled and weird. I don’t really know much at all about what’s going on this month and the things I do know scare me (like the fact that I have work in a few hours and have my schedule for next week and that I wont see him Thursday like I was planning to and that I don’t technically have my license yet and need to practice driving more) Summer is not always for me what it seems to be for everyone else; Carefree living and vacations, a break from reality and routines, and a happier state of mind? I feel claustrophobic in my own skin. Last night it got so bad I was itchy all over and wanted to quit my job and run away or open the all the windows and scream, but I didn’t have the energy for either, so I called the boy with the greatest smile and told him about it. I was being unfair in wanting to make him understand what I needed when the entire issue was that I didn’t know what I needed myself, but I could tell that he wanted to help somehow and that was enough help in itself honestly. It’s not his fault anyways you know? It’s nobody’s fault. It’s just that it’s July and I generally have always hated July, especially late July, it’s just always such a drag to me. The heat and your summer job start to get old and you realize you’re running out of time for beach trips and campfires and the actual good parts of summer. It’s too fucking hot and you can’t get away from it (when you can’t drive like me and have a summer job serving hot pizza to disgustingly hot tourists, sweaty and irritable, but your main source of income so you aren’t technically allowed to complain). I struggle to accept the things that I hate. I shouldn’t wish my summer away, but if I could I would sleep from now until September, straight through my last 20 work shifts and even through my 20th birthday (because really August 12 2015 just marks the day where it’s no longer acceptable for me to be an angsty irresponsible teenager and instead have to be an angsty and irresponsible and terrified and confused 20 something, with just as many problems and just as little money, but with bigger consequences and more daunting bills, BILLS haha it’s when I’ll start paying bills, and it’s the start of the decade in which everything will undoubtedly change and “start” but it can’t help but seem like the death of something). I am tired and I am hot and I am bored and I feel stuck and I want to sleep until I have guaranteed weekends off and can just knock out for 2 days out of seven if I need to. I want to sleep until it’s too cold to leave my house without grabbing a sweater and a hot drink ,and you have to keep your hands in your pockets or in another persons hand while you walk down the street, and I want the ocean breeze to be shockingly cold when I go to watch the sunset and write by the water, and I want it to sting and bite and hurt just enough to wake me up and bring me back to undeniable enthusiastic life. I want to sleep until it gets dark earlier and I don’t feel obligated to cram so much into a single set of 24 hours and can take my time. I want to sleep until the sun stops glaring at me and taunting me and stinging my eyes and making my vision red and burning my skin and making me sweaty and sticky and mean. I want to cool down and calm down and sink into things; couches, boys with great smiles, my work, my books, without feeling like it’s all too much too close, without feeling claustrophobic and itchy and trapped and too sweaty and sticky and overwhelming, for the couch, person, paper on pen to handle the heat and weight of me. I want to feel cool and wispy and easy. July makes me a burning mess too hot to touch and too heavy to hold. I want to sleep until I’m better than that. I want to sleep until I can wake up in the sunshine house in my big queen sized bed in my big white room that’s only mine, instead of the little yellow back room I am borrowing or my moms couch or someone’s floor. I want to sleep until I can do something more fulfilling and inspiring than slicing up a food I don’t even agree anyone should be eating. I want to sleep until instead of walking a mile to work in the morning, I can wake up and smell the ocean (you can literally smell the ocean everywhere in the ocean state, even if it’s only in your head) and walk a mile to the beach and then a mile down it and it will feel like half the distance I walked to that overrated, mice invested, pizza place, and I’ll head home feeling so full of whatever drink or picnic I brought and full of ideas and full of excitement for life, instead of the sinking emptiness I get from not eating all day and running around that tiny restaurant and having minimal things to look forward to. I want to sleep until I wake up with energy and actually feel like running and doing yoga again, I miss the endorphin cravings so bad, and I miss needing to move instead of having to. I want to sleep until I need to wake up. I’ll make the final stretch of summer as great as possible like I always do, but if I could… I’d lay down for a summer nap so deep that I’d only open my eyes when live music wakes me, when the phone rings and it’s someone with something to say more interesting than my dreams, for sleepy kisses, sunsets, for food stops and ocean dips with my best friends, to read a couple chapters, or to write something down that my subconscious discovered that my conscious doesn’t want to forget, and I’d sleep until I could wake up with this same happy soreness but with all the heat and claustrophobia and heavy lonely parts stuck in July and I’d be far off and cooled off and no longer “off” in September.