- Wait for Me Journal, Entry 1
- Wait for Me, Entry 2
- Wait for Me, Day 3
- Wait for Me, Day 4
- Wait for Me, Day 5
- Wait for Me, Day 6
- Wait for Me, Day 7
- Wait for Me, Day 8
- Wait for Me, Day 9
- Wait for Me, Day 10
- Wait for Me, Day 11
- Wait for Me, Day 12
- Wait for Me, Day 13
- Wait for Me, Day 14
- Wait for Me, Day 15
- Wait for Me, Day 16
- Wait for Me, Day 17
- Wait for Me, Day 18
- Wait for Me, Day 19
- Wait for Me, Day 20
- Wait for Me, Day 21
- Wait for Me, Day 22
- Wait for Me (Wrap Up and Thoughts)
This is an entry in a journaling game I’m currently playing. An explanation, and my first entry, is here. Oh, and these posts are organized into a series now. You can see the post series page here.
… and… I’m in the same room I was just in, but the walls are different. The Frazetta poster, the Tolkien calendar, a copy of Samurai Cat on my bed next to my journal. This place is a frigging shrine to the fantasy genre. How did I ever forget all this, and decide I didn’t like that stuff anymore?
Looking at the journal, I see a page littered with bullet pointed questions. Huh, plus ça change, c’est plus la même chose, huh? But when I look closer, I realize they’re anxious questions. First day at yet another new school questions. It’s a year till I figure out… maybe I can cut that learning curve down a little?
Look, forget all that stuff.
I draw an arrow up toward the anxious questions and worries.
These kids don’t know you, or who people decided you were before. You can be someone else now. I mean, to them. You’ll still be you. You should: you’re alright!
But the world? It’s theater. They’re all playing roles. Pick your role this time, a better one.
Oh, but: trash the unicorn T-shirt. (Trust me.)
As I lift the pen, memories ripple through me, a year rewritten, well, partly.
Iron Maiden? Seriously? And… a totally different bunch of kids in my D&D group? I made a Metallica banner in Home Ec? Panicked, I fumble through my memories, worried that… no, no. Mom still refused to let me learn guitar. I got the same alto sax, got the same lessons, lost my mind listening to a different Miles Davis/Coltrane album, but… yeah, not everything’s different. I thought I’d lost myself for a moment there, but it looks like some things are harder to change than others. Thank goodness. In real life, I…
Wait, this is real life. I’ve just changed my past. I can change things, overwrite them. I reach for the pen, fumbling mentally to figure what else I could write, when I’m ripped from this moment and tumble off through time again…