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    <title>wasted - Archive - MayVaneDay Studios</title>
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<b>MayVaneDay Studios (Gopher Edition)</b>
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  <p><b>wasted</b></p>
  <p><b>published: 8-19-2018</b></p>
  <p>&nbsp;</p>
<p>The entirety of today was wasted. My family woke me up at six in the morning so that my father could go early to some sports competition. There was nothing for anyone who wasn’t competing to do other than stay in a cold building, and we even got kicked out of that after a few hours so that some dudes who were smoking could have lunch in peace. And outside wasn’t any better, because there wre just more people smoking. And then I almost died of thirst, and we hightailed it through a Subway after my brothers had a hissy fit over where we were going to eat for lunch.</p>
<p>A convention of disgusting people, basically. A flower growing in the middle of a murky swamp. Everywhere smells like someone just ripped a nasty fart, and you’re fourteen hours away from the closest place to take a shower and nuke your entire skin of all the collective filth of humanity.</p>
<p>Some day, I will never have to go to an athletic competition again. I will be free.</p>
<p>Some day, I will be alive.</p>
<p>But I’m a good fourth of the way through my next book, so that’s a plus, I guess. Or is it a third? I don’t know. I don’t know anything that’s going on anymore. I got locked out of my FAFSA account, and I had to call a government phone number to ask a nice lady to reset everything, and I almost had a panic attack when she said that it would take seven to ten days to verify everything. But granted, I’ve been panicking at a lot lately. College, my body dysphoria, the impending sense that shit is about to hit the fan in my household and that I need to flee to somewhere, to <em>anywhere</em> that isn’t where I am right now.</p>
<p>I take back what I said about otherkin a long time ago. Most of them are lovely people, and I’ve made more friends in the past few days than in the past three months before that, and, by the looks of things, I probably am one too. But who knows anymore? Flash back to third grade, the year where I wrote a four-page “book” and tried to use it in a book report and the whole class laughed at me, and if you told the me then that I’d have five full-length novels written before I even started college…</p>
<p>Maybe things would have been different. More hopeful, maybe. Not seeking validation in the schoolmates that would disappear like the smoke off all the cigarettes I saw today.</p>
<p>My high school yearbook serves as a damn good mousepad, but it’s nothing but cursed otherwise.</p>
<p>Maybe this day isn’t so wasted, after all. I started some digital cleaning. I started getting my priorities straight. And I wrote something.</p>
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