Been a while since I took to the blog to attempt to hack my insomnia.
Honestly, it feels like I'm fourteen again, dreading nighttime because even though I may have been a bear in another life, I can't get my stupid human body to cooperate and go the fuck to sleep. I used to take melatonin for it but it always left me feeling groggy in the morning. Then years passed and one psychiatrist or another prescribed Trazodone, which I can only describe as horse tranquilizer. It knocked me out for a full twenty-four hours so I opted not to continue it. Thanks a lot for wasting an entire day of my life -_-
I stayed at my dad's last night 'cuz yesterday was his 57th birthday and Yan Diego and I wanted to celebrate it by going out to dinner, just the three of us. It was really nice. The bro and I split a chicken Milanese salad while my dad ordered a spinach-mushroom type risotto (which I obviously stole some bites of because DUH). After dinner, we all ventured off to buy beer except I forgot about the laws on selling alcohol after 8pm in most places, so a gas station selection would have to do. Papi and YD both chose their faves while I hung back; wasn't much feeling the need for alc. Then the sweetest man running the counter rang us up and handed me two lollipops (presumably because he thought I was underage and was feeling left out by not getting my own drinks). Now, I'm fully twenty-two years old and 10000000% could've legally bought my own if I wanted, but I'll take free lollipops any day.
We ended up taking the long way home (with my idiot brother pausing to pee behind a bush). Once we got back, I greeted Scout and Phoenix with high-pitched affection and sat down so we could begin watching The Batman (Edward Cullen version). The movie was A THOUSAND YEARS LONG but very worth it. Of course, it didn't help that I kept having to pause every thirty minutes so I could recap what was going on... At one point I even got Yan Diego to make me an entire bowl of mac 'n cheese while recapping. Overall, I thought it was genius, brilliantly written, designed, edited, acted, etc. It did give me wicked anxiety though because the villains felt all too realistic and the misogyny some of the characters faced felt a wee bit too relatable eeek
Then Papi went to bed and I spent the next hour forcing Yan Diego to watch trash Riverdale compilations on Youtube. His old ass called it around 3am ('cuz he's a working man and all) and so we went back upstairs to the room we share. He and I haven't shared a room since I was seven and he was ten. Now we're twenty-two and twenty-five, him having taken over my mattress while I'm at college, and me occupying the couch sectional in the corner. And I know it's not like we actually share a room anymore (I'm never usually home), but something about it felt safe and familiar and old. We spent our early childhoods in Queens, NY; what feels like lifetimes later, we're in Po-town, NY. Still sharing a room. It made me long for my childhood like an absolute blubbering sap. Because here I am, twenty-two and a junior in college, feeling as tired and aged as my eighty-somethin'-year-old grandparents.
I miss writing for fun. To feel things. To make others feel. I miss reading for pleasure. And waking up refreshed without an alarm. I miss spending all day off my phone (because I didn't have one), not a care in the world. I don't want to pay bills. I don't want to file taxes. I don't want to have to remember meetings and rehearsals and appointments. I want to wake up whenever I feel, eat sugary cereal and watch Cyber Chase. Or sit sprawled across the floor with coloring utensils. Or balled up in a hammock reading the very first Harry Potter book. I miss chocolate milk mornings and Beatles for bedtime. I miss giggling in the backseat and having no knowledge of car accidents. I miss easy homework and imagination for days. I miss my little self. I know people are always saying there's no use fixating on the past but I didn't know how quickly mine would be ripped away from me. So I'm allowed to long.
I'd forgotten what writing on here felt like. Like never-ending flutters on a keyboard, letting my thoughts dictate whatever they fancied. I'd forgotten how... freeing? it feels to ramble uninterrupted, uncensored, and with no agenda. I don't even get to do that in therapy!
I'm still feeling nostalgic and I doubt I'll make it to bed at an appropriate time but here's to trying.
Hasta la próxima,
Much love xoxo
Maya
