"Leave My Door Open Just a Crack, 'Cause I Feel LIke Such an Insomniac."

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I stay up at night thinking, infrequently, but sometimes, for hours on end. My mind wanders through links of people, events, possibilities the next day, week, or month holds. "Women's brains are like spaghetti, men's are like waffles." My thought process is a living testament to women's brains being lumped in with spaghetti. I ponder over the swim meet tomorrow which leads to the time I went to States last year with my old swim team, which reminds me of Target that we visited and how I need to return photo frames which brings up this summer and the pictures I needed developed from then. It is so insane that my logic moves so quickly throughout and to places years ago, times that have been long forsaken.

Unfortunately, despite how intriguing this contemplation method is, it introduces my thoughts more to over-analyzation than anything. I begin to wonder: Why did my teacher take thirty points off for that ONE THING? Why wasn't I chosen? Why did this happen to my mom? Etc. It kills any trace of good spirits remaining from yet another exhausting day. I am even prompted to wonder: if my life were instead a movie, a superficial journey of a girl surrounded by cameras and with tears produced by eyedrops, would these situations that my mind reads over again and again and again like a broken record player exist? By chance that my life were identical to those we see on blu-ray or while indulging in red cushioned chairs with a bag of greasy popcorn that has as many calories as Michael Phelp's daily meals, would these unpleasant swerves in the road occur? Would these speed bumps continue to feel as if they are Mount Everest? Then I see the fault in my path, the feigned love in movies that is tangible for me. The struggles I battle in relationships may be overwhelming at times but it certainly beats the counterfeit connections and friendships we see on the big screen but progress in expressing an "aww." While the trenches I must climb out of feel like mountain climbing without a rope, I know the prize and victory at the end is real. I know the sunrise I can see as I emerge is not green-screen or a paper background, instead it is as genuine as the reward that will await once I come to the end of each scuffle.





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