bug juice on my palm

Very nice torpid (albeit bloody freezing) air in school these days, less and less people are turning up every day for the most trivial reasons and less and less teachers are caring. Nothing new’s happening, except that we are slowly but surely going to turn into J2s – through a mystical process as yet unknown to me. For all we know, it’s probably going to be exactly like andropause, except we still have homework

I’ve learnt many things this year. I’ve learnt to be proactive when it matters, to hold back when it doesn’t, and the discernment to know the difference (with some forgettable lapses, but then I’m only seventeen – sixteen, really, and fairly uninitiated when it comes to Things Like These). But mainly – that holding back is really the best way of commitment. Restraint doesn’t evince detachment or a tedious personality; it shows commitment, and sense. It looks to the future. Restraint fills up the wells of your heart with all the right feeling, instead of giving them away in short, regular bursts, where they run the risk of dissipitating.

So rather than running that risk again, I’m doing it slightly differently this time. I’m collecting it all in a small glass bottle (round-bottomed) like little psychedelic sands, slightly restless and frenzied – but otherwise merely pulsating and glowing with smug radiance. And into this Bottle of the Dust of my Contentment I will add daily, weekly, until it overflows and the cork can’t weather the exuberance and it all flies out, in an epic shower of sparks and ostentation


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