change

Deal with what you can’t change:
It's my birthday on Wednesday, and I'm absolutely freaked by the passage of time. It's as if I've cracked the speed of light, but still can't catch up, and can't see the world as I know it reflected in anything because the beams of light just won't bounce back [Einstein]. But I can't change how time flows; I can only flow with it.

I'm still six-years-old inside.

From Saturday, I was awake for 32 hours. I watched the sun rise for the first time, and the air was chill the way I like it. It was beautiful, even if I felt like shit.

Change what you can:
Tomorrow, I’m taking action to try and push forward the Battle of the Bands idea at school – the one member of staff I’ve approached says they won’t want to be involved. I’m sending copies of a letter to several members of staff and student leaders. I know I may have signed my own death warrant by being forward, but I am the representative of the students and feel I have the right to inform everyone involved without the approval of that one person. The school so promotes leadership, free thought and individuality, but never puts these into action. I’m simply doing what they told me to do in all those bullshit motivational speeches.

Funny how some things I never want to change, but some things I’d risk my neck to alter. Can I be six-years-old and still change the world? I think I can. At least, as a six-year-old, I can still chuck tantrums. But, as a six-year-old, can I still write love poetry? Maybe then it would more pure – you know how children just say what they mean. I want to say what I mean (like I do) but never regret it; wear my heart on my sleeve like an open notebook, and still survive sane.

So I guess the question is, can I be six-years-old and sane?

Well, I can be six-years-old, at least.