What happens when the ice melts to water?


My poor computer and I are hanging in there (kind of), but the butterfly posters and Roscoe’s paws make this even better.

The time, the days, and the months ran away from me. It slipped out of my grasp months ago, and I can’t seem to catch up. Its head-start created an unfair advantage over me–my short legs can only carry me so far before they weaken. 

It was just Christmas Day, wasn’t it? 

No, it was fifty-four days ago. 

The bag one of my presents came in is pushed against my wall waiting for me to finally give the random junk and nick-nacks inside a home. Along with the bag, posters of different butterfly types were framed and still haven’t been hung. Weren’t stores just playing Christmas music, and weren’t people just posting hauls of all of their presents? 

After the best time of the year–obviously Christmas time–the world enters what I like to call “The Grudge.” “The Grudge” is the first quarter of every year and ends sometime in April. During this period, the time seems to slow down to a point where I can finally catch it. There’s a repetitive cycle of school and cheer, and nothing is very exciting. There are no major dates except Tax Day and Inauguration Day, but one comes every four years, and the other most adults dread. 

Without school to help stable the wavering waters, it increased the longevity.

This past year, “The Grudge” never ended. Last year, it started as it normally does at the beginning of January. It was going fine until the world flipped upside down and rolled away. Without school to help stable the wavering waters, it increased the longevity. I felt the same repetition in the summer, in the fall, and now again in the winter, but it hit harder this time. 

My grades aren’t where I’d like them to be, and my goals and dreams aren’t being reached any time soon. The single thread that pulls me together is being saved by music, an overwhelming amount of music. My AirPods are always on and playing Lorde and Post Malone. Depending on the mood, I might turn on “O Children” or “Apocolypse.” 

The sounds help me destress to some extent–I’m not too sure if blasting “Writer In The Dark” at full volume is considered de-stressing, but it creates some space for my thoughts to untangle each other. It helps me stay on my toes–it helps my boat stay stable in the wavering waters but only for so long. 

My borderline music addiction acts as a temporary fix to the single thread that’s about to snap since the grasp I once had on time and reality has diminished.