My mother sometimes tries my patience, but tonight she really got me riled up in the good way. She talked to me about my intensity, told me that I can be really hard to deal with because I'm not like most people. She told me she's never surprised when she hears that another boy/girl/friend/romantic-interest has fallen off the face of my planet, because she really believes that most people just don't have the strength or drive to keep up with me. Her take is that people are fascinated by my intensity and drawn to it out of curiosity, but that in the end most of them just can't hang. And that's okay...I'd eventually lose patience with them anyway. Because I'm different. Hard to swallow, sure, but still good in my own right.
Yeah. Different. Intense. Powerful. Driven. And I challenge others to be so as well.
I feel agitated and animated. I feel poised to take on the world!
I feel like that glorious moment in the middle of a run, when it's so fucking hot out I can't stand having a watch or water bottle or clothes or even my underwear on my skin when I finally let out a battle cry and tear my shirt off to get as few molecules between me and the precious wind as possible.
I'm running hard. Shedding the layers. Making a break for the future I want. It will be mine, and as long as I stay focused nothing--NOTHING--will get in my way.
I don't need to slow down for anyone--if someone really wants to run the race with me he'll keep up. And if he doesn't no reason to shed tears over it. No reason to be disheartened. This isn't about him. It's about me.
This is my life, nobody else's. And I'm the only one who can make it worthwhile.
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