It's Mah Birthday

I'm 24. Carry on.

Spinning By

This weekend is almost to an end. I haven't gotten any homework done, which hopefully will be remedied by bedtime. I need to do laundry, but honestly couldn't see myself out of the house. I suspect that tomorrow the internship is going to be so lame. I'm applying to jobs now with the help of my friends and therapist who tell me not to be afraid of my availability. I'm worried that I'll have to move out of New York City without being able to accomplish all that I wanted. I'm afraid of going back to school to study theater. I'm afraid of being a fuck up.

Hello Weekend

I suspect this weekend will go by fast. I have conflicting plans for Saturday, and I'm hoping to get some work done. I have tickets to a play at my internship at 2, dance class at 330, American Idiot lotto at 6, queer party at 9. Oh, and I have to stop at the post office for a "small box that'll make [me] happy". Thank God for strong black mothers.

There's been a shyt load of new developments at my school in terms of my graduation, but I'll keep that mum for now. Either way, May is going to be an awesome month. I'm getting my top surgery done on May 21st, and may do a separate blog about my experiences with it. So far, there haven't been too many hitches in my plan to transition, and I think the greatest advice I've either gotten from a therapist or my fellow transmen. I would make that the focus of this blog, but that focus won't keep for very long.

I just wonder how life tends to throw curveballs, and how many times I'll have to swing before I get on base. Too much analogy. Time for a smoke.

Almost 4/6

So I'm up late because I have this paper due tomorrow, & I can't clear my mind enough to sit down and write it. I have the urge to reach for that bottle of No-Doze which holds my paper-writing pills, but I'm sure I'll crash so hard I won't make it to school in the morning. I'm worried my professor in my first class will take me aside for missing more than three classes. Last week, I was about to walk out the door when I had the urge to smoke pot. I ended up coming into school about three hours behind schedule, but significantly less anxious.

One of the topics to be discussed in therapy this week is my newly formed enjoyment of pot. I smoked for the first time in February and managed to stay away from it until about a week ago. Life started taking a turn for the worst and I was worried I'd end up in the hospital. They expect us to own up to these thoughts of living in a world of nothing, but I'm too smart to let that part show all the time.

I guess it comes from knowing the system from the inside out. You tell someone you've been feeling low for more than two weeks, and they think you want to harm yourself. NYU was listed as #24 of stressful colleges due to our high rates of student suicide (the favorite "jump spot" is the school's library. From the 10th floor, the tiles look like spikes). They offer us free counseling of at least ten sessions before we are referred out for ongoing treatment of the non-free kind. I enjoyed my six months with my therapist that ended around this time last year, but I never did follow-up for counseling after. I figured, summer will come, and the world will get better for me. It did until about two weeks ago. I'm still not sure if I'm going to graduate on time (much of that depends on Wednesday's activities), or where I'm going to be in the fall.

If anything, it reminds me of when I was little and couldn't imagine my life beyond age 22. Maybe it was my love of that particular number, but by 12, the majority of my grandparents had died from medical reasons. I was moving all the time and suffering the lost of friends. Every time I thought past college, my mind would go blank, no, dark. It's like living in a world of darkness where no matter how many steps you take, you will remain in the dark. On my 22nd birthday, I realized I wouldn't die. As I approach my 24th birthday, I'm honestly not sure.

Now, the problem with blogging all this is that some of my friends, being social workers, may freak out and think I may actually kill myself. At this time, I'm not worried about it, and I hope no one else is either. Life is a series of ebbs and flows, and right now I need to be in the flow. There's no quick and easy fixes for a clouded mind, and no one can truly be happy all the time.

On another note, I've realized that smoking pot unlocks my creative side. I used to be into writing long stories, but weed turns me into a poet. I'm not sure if the stuff I write is any good, but that's the beauty of being high: you just don't give a fuck. Maybe some day my brain will be less fragmented with the smoking and I can get back to longer pieces. Til then, this is what I'll close with:

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Pot makes your heart slow down and your brain speed up.

I’m spending more time in my head, not because I want to, but because the world is not responding.

I speak loudly, but no one hears the silent cries of eyes that are too itchy to open wide. The pollen is killing me, and my Mac is warming my lap.

Thermal snuggles get rejected. hearts are unprotected as we go into the night that becomes morning. mourning becomes morning, and the sun remind us that no matter how slow we are moving the world is moving faster.

it keeps on turning until we fall unbalanced. as soon as reality comes back, we flee to the pipe which keeps us ungrounded.

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!K

An original poem, by Kryst

Pot is God's gift to us because he loved making folks numb in pain and lifted from stress-filled days of nonsense from folks won aren't high. Munchies like mofos; lost cuz we so fly. Dogs eat Cats cuz pussies R tasti like cakes. Green is for money, springtime, and bud. Sending your mouth into a frenzy of not tasting anything, just everyone.