I am sitting in my garage.

I am sitting on top of a tilted, wooden, rocky, trailer.

We are in the midst of homecoming season.

For most, that means powder puff, maybe three lip-sync practices, a cute poster, and a bouquet of flowers. For me, it means a dark garage, spray paint fumes, and drips of paint ruining almost every pair of leggings I own.

I submerge myself in student council. I paint, spray paint, make too many trips to Home Depot, and dumpster dive for cardboard behind ace hardware. I give up sleep, open my house to anyone that’s willing to help, and cry.

I love making the float. I’m good at making the float. But it’s a lot. Most of the time, people ask me why I do it. It’s stressful, and in the long-run, it doesn’t matter.

Those people are right, it doesn’t matter in the long run. It literally does not affect my life at all after the month of October. But for that month, it matters. It gives me a sense of pride and a sense of accomplishment.

These cans of spray paint and crappy paint brushes let me share my creativity, it’s something I love. So why does it matter if it doesn’t matter in November?

Because it matters to me.