Z and I hit up the mall on Friday. We haven't done that sort of thing since high school. It was like paying a visit to the Twilight Zone, not because there were tons of old people there - but in the weird sense. There were stores there we'd never seen before, stores we used to love visiting were gone, and spending money on trivialities somehow seemed harder now that we were both actually working for it. I managed to force myself into a splurge and bought a wallet on sale. It seems counterproductive now that I think back on it because I've been stuck on $500 saved for the past 3 months. It's not like I've been working less. I've actually been taking on more hours, but I just can't seem to stop buying crap. No credit cards for me, clearly.

We ran into some old high school friends at the mall, oddly enough, completing the return to high school illusion, except that one of our old friends was there with her 3-month-old son. As we made our polite remarks about how cute the baby was, I couldn't help but wonder how much else had changed in the 2 years since high school. They asked us what our plans were for the big long weekend, and as I launched into an explanation of the parties we were supposed to be making appearances at the next day, and into a broad recounting of the relaxing Sunday I had in mind, I couldn't help but wonder how this 20-year-old girl with this 3-month-old baby would be spending her long weekend. Or the weekend after that. Or the summer. Or the next year. Not too many foreseeable beach parties or cottage getaways. But maybe I'm wrong.

As we said our goodbyes, I launched into a whole new line of thought. Here I was feeling sorry for this girl who wouldn't be able to party anymore (at least, not the way we do) or be whimsical or spontaneous - and yet, here I was, not knowing what I wanted to do not with the rest of my life - but even with the rest of my week. I mean sure, maybe fate dictated what her life was going to be for the next 18 years and more - but I had nothing to work towards whatsoever - chosen or determined by fate. What's my two year plan? Finish my degree. Then what? Finish another degree? Then what?Make some money. How? Where? Who will pay me? And to do what?
So I felt lost. And confused. And slightly lonely.

Most seconds of most of my days I'm perfectly happy being perfectly disgustingly cynical and horrid about the world - not demanding anything, not expecting anything - not really needing anything from anybody. Letting people come to me or problems sort themselves out or friendships fester while I keep busy with a storybook here or a lecture there. Occasionally, I'll forget that I'm a hermit and that I hate people, and I'll pick up the phone and call someone, just to talk - but this is so rare an occurance that I usually note down the exact time and location of it in the event that the same situational circumstances should ever present themselves again - so as to prevent a re-occurance of an emotional outburst. Well, I think I had two of those conversations this past year. Most of the rest of the time, stuff is purely business:
"Hey, haven't talked to you in a while."
"I know."
"How was your weekend."
"Oh, you know. Work, fun. Chilling. You?"
"Oh, pretty much the same. I saw this great movie. *insert movie title here*."
"Oh yeah? I heard that was good. Maybe I'll check it out."
"You should."
"Alright, I will. So, you wanna get together next *insert day here*?"
"Yeah, okay, lets go get lunch."
"Alright."
"Alright, well, I'll call you sometime during the week and we can finalize plans."
"Cool."
Click.

At lunch:
"So, what have you been up to?"
"Oh, you know..."
And so on.
And most days, this is just fine by me.

Half the stuff that goes through my head never makes it out, though. I know I'm not alone in that being a fact - it's just that, and well, maybe this is the result of years of fairy tales accumulating and multiplying in magnitude and importance in my head - but - I always thought that one day someone who just -fit- would show up, and I'd somehow magically recognize that they fit - and I'd tell them about some of the stuff that goes on in my head that never makes it out. I always thought that one day, some day, it would just come easily and naturally - and there'd be stuff, of course, and fights, I wouldn't expect less, and this, that, and the other...
And well, the truth is, that person doesn't exist. They can't, because I don't even know where I'm going. I don't really like where I'm coming from. And, well, I certainly don't know where I am or what I'm looking for. And that's the problem, because rather then trying to fix stuff, I'm waiting for someone to show up and fix it for me.

Once upon a time, I went to IKEA with V and got a new lamp. The lamp was a welcome addition to my room. It made it seem more lived in; it added to the clutter. It made me happy because my room felt more homey, and all of a sudden, I wanted to spend a whole lot more time here.
This is a slight shame because the weather is gorgeous and I'm positive my time would be better spent sunning myself in the backyard or cruising down the highway to an undetermined location. Unfortunately, I'm the only person I know who has Mondays off that I'd like to hang out with, and driving aimlessly by yourself seems doubly aimless. I already know everything about myself you could potentially learn about another being on a road trip. I know how often I have to go pee, I know the songs I sing when I'm bored, and I know the timbre of my whine when I'm tired.
I can't wait for my sister to finish school so I can just hang out with her all the time.
My sister is hilarious. She dons the most amazing accents and tells the most pointless jokes. She's as sharp as a tack - she doesn't let things slide, and she has a penchant for bringing things full circle. She gets my obscure references and she milks inside jokes. She has this look she gives you when you've said something dumb: but it's not judgemental, it's more fascinated, like, "I can't believe how stupid you are. You're my hero." She makes the funniest faces and talks in the funniest voices, and she dances like a moron.
I love her to death.
I could drive to the other side of the world with her, and back, and we'd get on each other's nerves, and we'd clash, and we'd fight, but we'd probably have the time of our lives, too. I can be me around my sister, no holds barred, no impression management required - and she loves me for me, like I love her for her. I wouldn't trade that in for the world.