To walk a mile in my shoes (bring band-aids)

Watching the sun set over the roof of the bus depot is not at all picturesque. The Green Day song playing in the background is no longer loved, it’s grating on my nerves. All I want is to talk to one of four people. But, thanks to the time difference, they’re sleeping soundly in their beds. Meanwhile, I’m here waiting impatiently for my soup to cook. Recently I’ve become quite domestic, learning how to use the cappuccino machine, the slow cooker and most other appliances in my house. The parents, being totally consumed in tax and lawsuits and other boring yet necessary stuff have left all the most mundane tasks you can possibly ever thing of to me. My dog has started to like me though. It’s taken 9 years, but she actually comes and sits on my lap now. Before, she would only glare at me from a distance (yes, dogs can glare). Feeling loved! 

Uhm, no, not really. Kinda depressed today but must must must MUST look on the bright side. Today everything has overwhelmed me and all I want to do is sit in a corner and cry for a million years and hope no-one will find me. Actually, I do want someone to find me. I think everyone does, even the most screwed up, isolated, horrible kid does. Even adults. Especially adults. Everyone just want’s to be loved unconditionally, needed but not too much, not to be smothered, just have someone there. I hope I find that someone. I hope I get to choose who that someone is. I won’t though, it’s very rare that someone you know in your teen years goes on to be the person you spend your short amount of forever with. Especially if you haven’t technically met them. I know, I know, there’s all those horror stories about girls (and sometimes boys) who go off and meet someone they’ve chatted to on the internet and get raped and murdered.

But this is different. Honest. For one thing, I have video proof they exist and are who they say they are, voice proof, pictures etc etc etc. It’s perfectly safe, they are really them, and I am really me… oh. I wonder if they know that? Oh dear..  Anyway I’ve known them for about 5-6 months now, but talking to them, it feels as if I’ve met them before. Have you ever had that? It’s very odd. You ask questions about their life, and when they reply a small part of your brain (or maybe it’s your heart) says “I knew that!”. And you really didn’t. You haven’t been stalking them for their whole life (well, I haven’t..), you never even knew they existed at the start of this year! The worst thing is, I don’t know if they get that feeling too.. I haven’t got the guts to ask. I would like to, but it’s a bit awkward… “Hi! Everything you tell me about your life I somehow already knew, is it the same for you?” No. And how do you go about meeting someone from overseas anyway? Especially if neither of you live in a major city. Say, for example, you’re going over to LA next year for a tour with your band.. and they live near LA but not near enough to make it worth the trip. And how do you sell it to the parents? “Can your son come out to LA to meet me? A strange girl from the other side of the world? Whom your son probably has no real clue if I’m actually a girl or not..” AWKWARD!

If you haven’t read a post thingy by me before, you probably have guessed that I ramble. This website should be called ramblr. It would fit so much better. I only made this tumblr account because I wanted a place to write my stuff without anyone I know seeing it. Yes, I could have a diary or journal or some other lame book thing, but thats exactly it, its lame. So, no. Instead I’m posting my life out into the void of cyberspace, hoping it won’t come back to bite me later in life as all those current affairs shows are saying. Which is why I haven’t put my name on this. I think… (mental note to check settings later) and also its for safety reasons. The only people I ever want to meet off the internet are the guys mentioned above. So, if there are any pedo’s lurking this …blog?  GET LOST YOU FREAK!

With that settled, and my conscience partially cleared, I go back to staring at the clock in the darkness of my kitchen. The smell of great soup fills my whole body with an ache of hunger. It won’t be ready for another 8 hours.