Ellie and I are having an impromptu sleepover because the bus apparently gets less reliable the later it is. I was already pushing the limits of how late I was comfortable staying out, and the bus was running more than fifteen minutes late. If it ran much later, I knew I would be lucky to get home by 12:30AM. I'm running a delicate balancing act right now between things that scare me because they're new and things that scare me because they should actually be scary. I never want to miss out on something because I'm scared of the world, but I also don't want to be an idiot about it. Tonight I decided to err on the side of caution and walk the six minutes back to Ellie's house. In the future I've learned I shouldn't push my comfort zone quite so hard if I know I'm already staying out kind of late, and for tonight I'm safe at home with Ellie.
I almost decided not to write about this, and it was the strangest feeling. I love to write. Writing makes me feel more connected to myself and the world. I don't think I've ever had something special and thought, Wow, I really don't want to write about this before. For some reason, this time, it almost felt wrong. It felt like letting go of something I desperately want to hold onto. I guess the tradeoff of writing like this is that I end up having to share what I'm writing about with the world, or however much of the world wants to listen. I'm not sure if I want to share this. There's a piece of myself that wants it to belong entirely to me. That doesn't feel quite right either, though, so I'm going to follow my usual instinct and write. Hopefully, as writing always seems to, it will bring me answers. On Saturday I attended my first major pride event, Pride Fest, with Chloe and some of her friends, at least some of which are now also my friends. I wa...
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