sometimes i think about what my 13 year old would think of me, you know? it's like, what did she expect to become at this age? i'm not sure. i don't think she ever fantazised about anything real, more than anything, she wanted stardom. and it's she i'm referring to, not i. no past selves are me, they're just connected. they die every once in a while. she wanted love, well, she's struggling still. i'm sorry. she never expected teaching. there's just too many things that weren't hip back in the day. two jobs? sleeping in random beds? pulling all-nighters every week? well it wears one out.
what am i expecting future me, though? that she graduates, mostly. that she's comfortable in her own body. i envision the bad weather won't stop her, nothing will. i think i'm destined to a few more years of solitude: i wanna come to terms with it so i stop pushing relationships out of nowhere. being alone is fine, i guess. i deal with it. but i hope the shadows can bear. and the lifestyle continues. i don't know. i don't wanna be angry and strange in this body forever.