I love this time of the night. I wonder if we should be as hesitant to use the word "love" as we are to use the word "hate" ... Then again, we aren't very hesitant with either, these days, are we? Never mind.
Drinking a soy caramel macchiato and feeling the insane urge to write, but not necessarily to think — clearly... initially I typed "necesaraly"— and I have been focusing on my Spanish paper so intently for the past two days, I think English has slipped out of my mind for the moment.
This girl, who my friend and I call our "library buddy," is always studying in the same place that I am. So strange, but then again, not really; we both just have the same favorite study spot in the library, but it still feels odd that we've never actually spoken. For an entire two and a half quarters, she and I have braved late nights and early mornings together, buried beneath textbooks and highlighters, and I have yet to know her name. All I know is that she's in a sorority and we have about two mutual friends. Hmm.
At the same time, our strange nonexistent friendship is comforting. I like the idea of working near each other and probably riding the same waves of stress/joy/exhaustion/hope, without ever actually speaking. Would make a good story one day, maybe.
But that's the problem: I am always writing stories in my head, sometimes to the point of missing what's going on in front of me. I would like to step away from storytelling mode for a bit, and that means letting go of many ideas I've kept with me for some time. I need to take the picture frames down from my brain walls.
I am not quite sure what to do with myself. Here's to making the most of the night, and the strange feeling of being too tired and too excited, all at once.
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