I saw something on Tumblr that said, “I wish we were together.” 

I wish we were together.

It made me think about how rarely I have someone I wish I was together, in that sense, a romantic sense, a sexual sense, with. Oftentimes I wish I had someone, but I rarely have a specific person in mind. I guess that’s because whenever I have some kind of flirtation with someone, I usually realize I don’t like them pretty quickly. Why is that? Why does that always happen to me? I’m nineteen years old. I’ve kissed two people. Ever. I do not know either of their names. I was drunk both times. I thought about this a lot. My friends judge me for this, I think. My friends from home. Probably a few of my friends at school would, but I don’t really get into it with them. My friends from home, they have either gone from relationship to relationship, or, like me, their romantic history is somewhat of an blank page. But they still don’t understand what I’m doing, completely. I just think that if I don’t have anyone who I even have a crush on, why not enjoy myself when I go out to parties? Why not get some experience? It’s possible that it could be a few more years before I have a real relationship. I hate to think that, but it is so possible. Why would I want to be a 25 year old who has never kissed anyone? The thought of that stresses me out. It also stresses me out that me, and my one other best friend are the last of my friends from high school to lose are virginities. It’s weird. I feel ready to have sex. I feel ready to meet someone. I used to cringe at the idea of being responsible for someone, of having to inform them of all the details of your life and work with them and be with them. But that doesn’t seem so bad anymore. I guess that’s because I’m really alone now. I don’t have my high school friends with me for every move I make.

All of this scares me. The unknown scares me. The fact that I am always alone scares me. My roommate has basically moved out with a week left in the semester. I have other friends. I could easily call them. But I feel like a nuisance. I don’t feel comfortable calling them up, even though I should. I don’t know. I guess I’m just ready to go home.

Sorry. I don’t think this is very lucid. I just need to write my thoughts down, I think. 

I write all the time in school. It’s just meaningless words. I don’t spend time with my essays. I just do them. The only time I feel a real sense of purpose is when I print out what I have written, take a blue, bic pen, and edit so much that there is barely an white space left on the page. I love it when I have an idea of where to go next and my mind has so many ideas that my pen can’t get them down fast enough. It’s terrifying because I might lose some of my ideas in transition, but exhilarating because I’m creating so much so quickly. That never happens with essays. That only happens when I have my own idea. I miss when I had a place to do all this, and a reason to do it regularly. I need to get back to that. It’s just so hard to restart from the beginning. I love hard work but I’m not patient.

I don’t think my parents will understand what I mean when I try to use that to explain to them why I’m so confused about what to major in. I think the best thing is to just pick a major and write as much as I can in my free time. I don’t feel motivated enough to make a living my writing, but I am terrified to make a living by doing anything besides writing. I like the idea of being a writer because that in itself provides you with an identity. I don’t know why I like that so much, but I do.