Thing One: Trying to explain via college essay this desire to fly despite fear of heights, desire to be Taylor Swift despite fear of crowds, desire to be a ballerina despite total lack of flexibility and beauty and gracefulness.
Thing Two: Greasy second-day hair that has been touched by guys sitting behind you on a stupid-smelly-bus because they're too bored for their own good; hair that makes your whole body itchy because it needs to be watched but it was too late at night last night when you got home and you just wanted to sleep.
Thing Three: Writing something that you really like but being too scared to show it to anyone for fear that they might tear it down or question you or misunderstand you. Being misunderstood. Being confused for someone else. Being the one girl in class whose name the teacher doesn't yet know despite the fact that you got 100% on the last test.
Thing Four: Changing seats in class and sitting in alphabetical order by middle name and trying to explain to someone that your mom spelled your middle name wrong on purpose because she wanted it to be different; considering the fact that she must've been crazy to think your first name wasn't different enough as it is.
Thing Five: Feeling so connected to a character in a play that when her heart gets broken you're trying so hard not to cry, focusing on Ben Mckenzie's giant arm muscles like every other girl in the room, trying not to cry and hoping no one will ask you why you don't like the play, because you do like it but you can't explain that you are Laura, feel so much like Laura sometime that it hurts to see her so real on stage instead of just in your head when you were reading the script.
Thing Six: Listening to the new Taylor Swift song three times in a row because it reminds you of what it felt like to be a little kid, what it feels like to feel things so raw, so pure, without logic in the mix.
Thing Seven: That back of the throat about-to-cry feeling that you get when you send your mom your failed attempt at a college app essay that probably looks more like a psychological cry for help. The fear that she'll make you go back to that shrink again, when you know what the problem is, and it's that you can't deal with these people and their masks and their meaningless words and their sagging jeans anymore.
Thing Eight: Knowing the words to the Taylor Swift song by the fifth time through. Loving it so much that you're completely overeager for the album to be released now, now, now, so your mom can buy you the special edition with the bonus tracks at Target.
Thing Nine: Two film cameras from 1975 with two brand-new rolls of film, and nothing to take pictures of, and weather that totally absolutely completely sucks and makes me feel like wearing giant sweaters.
Thing Ten: Days when my converse don't make me feel good like they should, days when the weather gets me down, days when I use stupid cliches, days when I want it to be February already, days when the only thing that makes me feel like writing is this one Taylor Swift song.
