Running Out of Time

God of Time, if you’re following TheWebWeavers, could you slow down, for me?


Just two minutes ago, three months of summer stretched out hazy and infinite in front of me. Now, it’s ending, it’s over—the happiest summer of my life.

I’m not ready for college to start.

I’m not ready for summer to end.

How am I supposed to let go of my friends? When it feels like I just found them again and I need to cling on for dear life?

At least there’s Instagram.

Photo by KoolShooters from Pexels

An Ending Before New Beginnings

I’ve moved on, I swear I have. Just, it still hurts and I’d like to say this one thing:

On rejection letters


When you unzip your chest and put your soul on display and it’s poured in a beaker like honey and measured and they find it’s not enough, it’s a slap in the face, a slamming of doors. A closing of paths and an erasing of futures.

You’re not good enough.

Maybe it’s a slap well-deserved.

How could you ever think you were good enough?

Maybe it’s a taste, like a dewdrop of pepper juice on your tongue, of the real world. Maybe the encouragement, the belief, the expectation, piled on higher and heavier, were fake and this—this is reality.

I could’ve done more, I could’ve been more, if only I knew I was supposed to. What should have I done? How else should have I molded myself, pressed myself, like the clay I am to your expectation, to the expectation that became mine? (Your expectation that I folded like a love letter and stuck in my chest where it prickeld and prickled until eventually it fused with my heart.)

It was a really competitive application pool this year.

I couldn’t compete.

We had limited space.

There wasn’t space for me.

On Writing (and Not Writing)

Writing after so long, my joints feel rusted and achy. Sitting down to write even this took the effort of climbing a mountain (or at least a really tall hill) and the procrastination of a month. 

I hope that I can slide into my voice again like a pair of well-worn gloves, or find a new one that’s suitable. I hope my writing muscles haven’t atrophied and I’ll find my way again with some stretching, but for now, I feel adrift, and scared that I can no longer do the thing I used to do. That I can no longer claim my love of reading and writing when I no longer read and write.

Not writing has made writing terrifying. This document sat blank for weeks as I sat steeped in my terror before I could make myself mar the white sheet.

Before putting pen to paper, my pages of ideas are just beautiful potential swirling around in my head. Realizing them would mean to make them imperfect. What if I find I’m a worse writer than I used to be, after gathering dust? What if I am no better after all this time? I don’t feel very funny anymore.

Other things are just so much easier than creation. I’m learning Python and I have a job. During the school year I studied and did STEM. For all these things, I just follow the instructions, or memorize, or use the problem to find the solution. Writing and drawing is creating from scratch, and that’s harder and scarier. It means pulling things out of my own brain and examining them and I’m not sure I’ll like what I find. I read instead of write, and I don’t have to use my brain for that, I can just fall in love over and over.

Writing feels like a luxury of time that I’ve convinced myself I don’t have. In the race to go to the college I want, to get the grades I want, to be the living version of STEM, writing seems like a waste of time when I could be doing something “productive”. But when I know I will have time in the future, writing is the thing I look forward to. The dream of writing feeds me through the bleak months of the grind, but when I have time (like now, in this easy breezy summer), I don’t, because there are easier things, because I still feel like, I always feel like, I’m running out of time. 

And still I have a hunger for writing. It fills a space in me that has been empty for too long.

And still I feel written out. After writing essay after essay after essay for colleges and scholarships that all amounted to nothing, after the exhaustion of writing and building a version of myself that wasn’t a lie but felt too shiny, the dings and dents glossed over, I feel written out and dry. But I guess that writing isn’t this writing. This writing feeds, it doesn’t drain, even if it’s scary.

I think I need to make time to write.

I’m Back! (Again)

Greetings, dear nonexistent readers! It’s been a minute. Or several minutes.

School is quite a time-suck. I’m pretty sure I haven’t had time to breathe or sleep in the last *checks watch* nine months. That was quite a roller coaster. Well, now it’s two days into summer, I’ve graduated high school (*terror*), and I’m very bored without school (it’s a love-hate relationship). Hopefully I’ve retained some of my blog-writing ability after so long.

A lot’s happened in the last year that I’ve been missing from the blogosphere.

  • I wrote a lot, but I wrote no fiction or fun things. Just pages and pages and pages of college essays. So much writing and editing.
  • I got rejected from all of my top choice colleges and my self-esteem left the college application process quite battered.
  • Instead, I’m going to a college I hadn’t really considered, but with quite a bit of scholarship money (Wooo!!). The campus is gorgeous and I’m excited for this fall. (But wow did making a college decision make me nauseous for two months.)
  • EXAMS (So glad they’re over). The way I had seven this year (well six so far, I still have one left in a week) and I studied less than previous years.
  • I got a summer job I’m really excited for!
  • I did not read many books *cries*
  • I’m going to become an adult in a few days (*TERROR*)

So yeah, just some general life updates. I’m hoping that I can blog more this summer (but, unfortunately, I’m probably going to drop off the face of the Earth again when college starts).