During a sixth grade parent-teacher conference, Mrs. M praised my above-grade-level reading skills, and I was proud. She then promptly told my parents she was concerned about how much I was reading, and accused me of using my books as a form of escapism. I felt very hurt. It hurts less now that I can recognize she was right.
She was right about me using my books for escapism, and she was right to be concerned about that too. Now I’m supposed to be an adult. And I’m having a hard time behaving like one because I can’t seem to resist the urge to just hide away and escape.
It’s no help that I can identify where the urge is coming from. I mean, look at the world right now. Trump went to the Super Bowl and the trade war tariffs are back on. It’s cold and windy and I’ve been sick for the second time in barely two months. The closest person who cares about me is 2.5 hours away, the closest one who could make me feel better is 4, and the one I want lives in a whole ‘nother province. At least her premier isn’t a major dickwad who attacks trans kids. Life right now feels kinda like staring down the barrel of the actual end of the world while feeling bad about all of the awful things you didn’t list. And the gun feels like it’s been in front of my face my whole life, and will stay in front of where my face had been after it inevitably goes off.
So yeah. I get why I don’t wanna be in the here and now. But dammit, knowing why does nothing to curb the urge. The world is ending and I have fucking assignments overdue and the ending of the world has made me feel too exhausted to work on them, so the unfinished assignments just get added to the end-times pile.
But goddammit, I have shit to do for classes that are interesting and required for the work, for the life I want. The gun is in my face. I can’t afford to escape. So Mrs. M was right to be concerned. I can’t be indulging in escapism. I need to figure something else out. Because dammit, I still have work to do.
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