Crystal (well, you know...)

I am stuck in the crevice between real life and fake life. If I'm being honest, I don't like it here much. Both real and fake life seep their ways in and make my head spin.


I promise you I'm not insane. Let me explain "fake life" and "real life" to you. It's really not all that confusing, but people seem to think I'm loosing my mind when I say things like, "It happened in real life," thinking that of course it happened in real life. Ha. False.


The following things occur in fake life:


1. Boys love me (and you, for that matter (not that they don't love you already (because they really actually do))). In fake life, boy are always like, "I love you," and sometimes I'm like, "I love you back."
     1b. Boys try to kiss me. So much, in fact, that it is exhausting. When they're totally beautiful I usually give in and I'm all, "Okay, okay."


2. Fake life is also when nothing feels real. Perhaps you've woken up at, say, five in the morning and headed off to dance in a parade: Definitely gonna be a fake-life day.


3. In fake life, romantic experiences don't freak me out.


6. In fake life, boys toss rocks at windows and life is a bit like an '80's movie.


7. Fake life is full of spontaneous bursts of song and dance. It's sort of like a musical. All the time. And everyone harmonizes perfectly pretty much every second of (fake) life.


8. In fake life, Matt Davis never wears a shirt. (What?)


In real life, however, boys don't always love me and I don't always love them back. They also don't try and kiss me. Real life feels real, three out of four romantic experiences send me into small anxiety fits, and life is like 2011, not '80's movies (or even real life '80's). In real life, most people can't harmonize or dance, let alone do both at once. Plus also, Matt Davis wears shirts in public. It's fine.


That, my friends, is the difference between fake life and real life. It's not all too confusing. You have fake life, too. Admit it.


But here I am down in this crevice where some boys love me, but I don't love them back. Where half the day is very fake and the other half all too raw. Where only two out of four romantic experiences are giving me angst. Where people dress like they're in the first few minutes of 13 Going on 30, but no one is standing in my yard with a boom box. Where musicals are real life on stage, but then I realize that I'm getting weird looks from the window washers in my basement when I am singing RENT really, really loudly in my house. And Matt Davis was spotted shirtless. Once. It's fine.


It's exhausting in here - in this crevice. Sometimes I don't mind it all too much, but when things happen that I can't differentiate between, I get angst and my head hurts and I run away super quick.


So, if you're looking for me, I'm just here, down in this little mixed-up crevice. I bet you will be able to find me here for a while, I fear. 


"Anxiety killed the cat, probably."


Maybe someday we'll each have an Independence Day of our own.
All my love,
Addy


[Edit: I just realized I left out numbers 4 and 5. I'm not going to fix it, though. Ha, ha.]

Day 19: It's the "What if?" that lingers.

I regret every word I didn't say to you. I regret every friendship I didn't save. I regret every outfit I didn't wear. I regret every boy I didn't love. I regret every tear I didn't cry. I regret every laugh I didn't laugh. I regret every nap I didn't take. I regret every homework assignment I didn't do. I regret every all-nighter I didn't pull. I regret every trip I didn't take. I regret every yell I didn't yell. I regret every time I didn't talk to a stranger. I regret every time I didn't wish. I regret every song I didn't sing.

I regret never telling him that he looked nice.

I regret never befriending her.

I regret never letting myself be free.

I regret everything. Everything I could have done, and didn't. Every opportunity that I had, but didn't take it.

It isn't the things I do. It's the things I don't that haunt me.

Be gutsy enough.

All my love,

Addy

Day 02: Boys.

I have liked forty-six boys since the age of five. That's an average of just under five boys a year and nearly one boy every two and a half months. The truth is, boys don't like me. They just don't. At least, not the boys I fall into love with. I aim too high. I like boys who are entirely out of my league (for example, Talon Shumway - I loved him once). Boys don't like me and that's fine. But that's obviously never stopped me from liking boys.

I shall forever remember my first love. His name was Brandon. He sat next to me in first track kindergarten. He had dark hair and olive skin and pretty eyelashes. I sometimes would day dream about him (I've always been really good at daydreaming instead of listening in school). Then his family moved to Italy. And that was the end of that.

Since then it's all become some sort of a cycle, really. It goes a bit like this: See boy. Stare. Think about boy for many hours. Ask someone for his name. Stalk him for a bit. Get his number. Text. Become sort of friends. Text. Confess my love for him. Make things awkward. See new boy. Stare.

But things are slowly changing. I think I'm falling slowly in love with someone and that's scary. Cause this time, it might be for real. He's tall. He has dark hair and funny shoes. His car is in a state of constant messy-ness. He's intelligent. He wants to be psychologist. He remembers that I like to wish on clocks. He likes techno music and freestyle rap. Sometimes he winks when he sees me across the room. He gives good hugs. I know him. I trust him. I like the shape of his eyes.

And I hate his on-again-off-again girlfriend.

Read a book.

All my love,

Addy

The truth is this:

I'm just going to admit it. Put it out there into the void. Because I feel like if I put down on paper (or, in this case, on blog) it becomes real - no longer a whispered secret or a nagging thought.

My infatuation with Perfect Boy Whom I am Infatuated With is merely that: an infatuation. I want to know him. I want to be his friend. He's an interesting creature. The truth is this: Perfect Boy Whom I am Merely Curious About is a cover-up for the truth.

I am in love with someone else and I am terrified.

There. Now it's real.

All my love,

Addy

Not in real life. (Plus, in real life, I'm a psychic.)

Our relationship in real life goes sort of like this: he laughs when I say something cute/funny/sarcastic/witty/stupid/really stupid/charming and I wonder "Is this love??" and catch glimpses of his lovely smile out of the corner of my eye when I am supposed to be doing something productive.

But it could potentially be sort of like this maybe (in fake life, probably): we hold hands sometimes and people say, "They love each other" when they see us together and we might go to the symphony or see a play occasionally and it would be cute.

In other news, I'm a psychic. Once upon a time I guessed who Kaitlyn loved (find a link to him here!) and today I guessed who Chloe loved(whom I completely adore on so many levels, by the way - Chloe, I mean, not the boy she loves). Plus, I took a test once and it told me "You have heightened psychic abilities maybe and you're pretty." (Okay, in real life it only said the first part of that. It's fine.)

I hope you had a beautiful day. Cause you deserve as much.

Do not diet cause it's ultra-dangerous and not very fun.

Enjoy the ride,

Ben

(Kidding. It's Addy. All my love.)