Butterfly Effects

Yesterday, in celebration of Earth Day, I took a nap on the sunny ledge in my office window, curled up like an American Apparel clad cat. I keep a pillow top in my office, because I am well prepared. Forgot deodorant? Got that. Need a snack? Got that. Just gotta have an afternoon shot, and a chaser? Well, I got those too. Theoretically, I could just stay in there for days and days and emerge none the worse, though I think there's some kind of social stigma against living in your office at school. I probably won't. But I could.

I thrive in chaos. And yet I hate disorder. I suppose you could divide the world, for me, into things that are meant to be orderly, and things that are not. Things out of their places just get to me. If a junk lot is meant to be a junk lot, then that's that, and I'm fine with it, but if encyclopedias are out of order, I have to set them right. A wooden puzzle was once left out, its component parts strewn haphazardly across the coffee table, begging to be put back together, calling to me. It took me 45 minutes to solve it, but I did. And I feel like people love to set me those traps. They know I'll be caught. Without fail, I'm the one that finds the puzzle.

Some things just belong in their right places. I categorize them like this and like that. I don't know what to do when they aren't where they go. I have a stylist. I have a make-up artist. I have an art friend, and a game friend, and a jock friend that will train me til my body aches for days. I have a place I like to read. I have a spot in the bed I like to sleep. I have a set of favorite chords that will pretty much guarantee me sold on a song. I have theories that I adhere to, and ways I like to argue. I sit in the same seat in every class, and set my things up in just that way. I listen to just the right mix tape at just the right time. About the only thing I haven't figured out is other people, and making sense of it all. Maybe I'm weird. And if I'm weird, then the people around me that put up with it, they must be weird too. I wouldn't put it past them. Or else it's we who are normal, and all others who are the freaks. That's plausible too. I like to say I hate being categorized, but I label everything and anything. It's not so much that I want to be so unique, but rather that I like to fuck with people. I just realized I'm writing about nothing.

I'm under a lot of stress. This semester is still such a close call, and I'm struggling to get it together. Maybe it's a combination of external stimuli and pressure at school? I'm getting tired of people expecting worse from me than I've given in the past. I'm not a bad person. I'm doing my best. I haven't tried to hurt anyone. I'm just looking for happiness like everyone else. In my little well-ordered, chaotic bubble. I almost have it.