Four Months

I have taught professionally for four months.

I possess more money than I ever knew existed.

I am friends with many adults above the age of 30. I call them by their first names.

I go weeks without hanging out with friends and am okay with it.

I miss my parents.

I sometimes have to deal with interpersonal conflicts with students that cause me extreme levels of anxiety. I try not to let it show.

My best friend is my coworker who is married and has children and tells me in kind terms to stop being a little pansy and love my job when students make me not love it.


My problems are my own, which is isolating.

Everyone around me is supportive, which is less so.

Eight more months before I've done it all once. Eight more months until my second year.

I think a lot about how okay I am with a typical life.

I feel like I matter a lot less, which is a weight off my shoulders.

I should call my grandparents. When I do, they sound like they are about to cry. Every time. I think they know that they are old, that they are going to die soon, and that I am a physical manifestation of the part of them that will remain. They don't sound scared though. They never talk about their own lives, just ask about mine, ask what they should send me in a care package, and tell me how proud they are of me. I don't call enough because every time I do, I cry afterwards. I should really call them.

I am doing really well for a college graduate. I am grateful for my priveledge.

I'm planning on buying a house soon. Woah. 

There are a lot of people I regard very fondly who live very far away from me. I wonder how many of them I will never see again.

For the first time in my life, I want to create art (this) that I wouldn't mind nobody seeing. Of course,  I usually only get introspective like this when I'm not exactly okay. Let's see how long this lasts.

Bye for now,

Grayson