Hello I'm a workaholic.

My legs are all discolored from the bruises and mosquito bites, but I am proud and faintly surprised to say that I have survived the first week of summer without feeling the need to pull out my hair from boredom. I think those days belonged to sixth or seventh grade or something of those times, but it feels good to love summer, sweat and all. Even my Sunday School teacher noticed a difference: Wow, Jessie, you're so much... happier... now that exams are done. Having a car really helps; I can actually go places- what a novel idea. But of course, after being out of the house so much, I'm dedicating the next week to studying for sat2s. Although this was in great part due to my mom's nagging, I still think there's something wrong with me.

I have this obsession with doing work. Doing something. Being productive. I was looking through my past Facebook status updates, and very many of them went something like "wow, great weekend, now time to do work." As if I felt guilty for having fun. Even during this week, which was incredible, I still felt as though I could've done something more. As though I should've planned more productive things over the summer, other than GHP. There's always this unnecessary sense of urgency for impossible things, like changing the world. I think that I have trouble focusing on the small things (like studying for sat2s) and I start drifting off into a land of what-ifs, like what if I had found my love for poetry earlier, or what if I had done more with Club Smile, or what if I could found a charity, or what if I could've visited Whirlwind more during the year.

And now I'm beginning to realize that all I'm doing right now is talking about myself. I suppose that's what a blog is for, but something I've realized, as I said before, is that I can't do anything by myself. Don't laugh at me for believing in divine intervention, because I don't know why people think it's such a funny idea. But I really did think that I could do everything. Just me and all my "potential" that all the teachers say I have then find themselves disappointed at how I never quite live up to expectations. It might be possible that I believe in myself too much. Or it might be that I've watched too many movies and have convinced myself that things will just work themselves out. I can't really get at what's so wrong with me, but I know something is.

And another thing that suddenly struck me was how some people just grew up. Actually, how all of us just grew up. I don't know how it happened. So I went to some peoples' facebooks and started sifting through the virtual photos, trying to pinpoint the exact picture where everyone grew up. I couldn't. But if you just look at the last picture, and the most recent picture, well, the difference is so apparent and so shocking. I can't get over it. I wanted to cry. But that's not saying much, since I cry about almost everything, but I suppose it makes up for the laughter.

I need to stop immersing myself in the stories of the girls in chick flicks. They're not even real.