222 Days Until I'm 18

Or at least, that's what the time span calculator says. I trust it. As a matter of fact...

Years: 0.61
Months: 7.30
Weeks: 31.72
Days: 222
Hours: 5329.00
Minutes: 319,740.00
Seconds: 19,184,400.00

All until I'm 18.

I just thought that the "222" was significant. The number 2 has been my assigned lucky number since birth [February second, or 2/2, as 2:02 am].

Freaky? A bit. I'm okay with it though. It's kinda cool to have something unique about your birthday.

Gosh. 222 days. Can't. Wait. In a sense, yes, I can wait. I'm not necessarily ready to give up my high school career and grow up so fast. I'm not really ready to be close to graduation, and in turn, be close to walking out the door and being a forgotten student at The High School. However, being an adult will be very much appreciated. I know, I know, "you kids want to grow up, blah blah blah." It's not that I want to grow up. I just want to escape. Being 18 will give me the unconditional lift I need to feel good. I'll be able to literally walk out the door, and not be breaking rules. I'll be able to get a job and support myself. I'll be able to be the person I want to be, 100% of the time, and not the person Sparta wants me to be, or thinks I am. 17 years and 143 days into an act. It's a mandatory act. It helps me survive the household.

One would think that being 17 years and 143 days old, that person would be allowed to express themselves without being beaten with words and judgments. Being confined in a house for 17 years and 143 days is most certainly a jail sentence.

Being afraid of the world is a terrible way to live. Sparta wouldn't open the windows all day last Halloween. "They'll be able to look into the windows and see us. That's why."

"Mom... it's noon...."

"You don't get it, Breanna. You think you're so smart. Satan is watching everything you do. He's waiting. You have to learn to be careful out there. MAYBE YOU SHOULD LISTEN TO ME ONCE AND A WHILE. I'M NOT STUPID. LORD, YOU'RE AS NUMB AS A BOOT."

Numb as a boot. My favorite Sparta quote. I've been hearing it since I was little. Mainly used for when I'd frustrate her with my undying stupidity, I've grown to hate the expression. And boots.


I miss The Guy. It's been well over a week.

I guess it seems a little... meh. Whiny. I feel I'm whiny. That's what this blog has turned into. My personal whine site.

Anyway. The whole root of my anger towards being an inmate and living with Warren Sparta is quite possibly that in itself; not seeing The Guy. It's frustrating.

I feel best when I'm around him. He doesn't make me feel insignificant, or belittle me. I'm adored.

Then I go home and feel like shit. For days. I ask to see him, she says no.

The thing I'm worried about most is that he'll get tired of waiting. Lots of girls want him. Lots. Like, infinite multitudes. I'm not worried he's going to find enjoyment in other girls in my absence; I think he kinda respects the relationship too much, on top of just being uninterested in others. But waiting. So much waiting. I knew this summer was going to be hard. It's one of the worst times to start a relationship [for me], right before summer vacation. I see no one. Absence makes the heart grow fonder? Sometimes. But most of the time it just saws through your body. It makes you tense and cry and miss them. It makes you sick and scream. After a while, in most cases, it makes you forget why you liked them. It detaches you from them. You begin to forget what it feels like with their arms around you, or what their hair smells like. No one can tend the fire, and it dies. Then it's just two strangers sitting on a train, on opposite ends.

I don't want that to happen to us.

I still remember all the little things. [For god sakes. It's only been a week.] But still. I'm in it for the long haul. Little breaks like this without him won't make me forget him. And I'm lucky that he's not average. Average guys do forget in a week.

We got together on May 22nd.

22.

My number, perhaps?

We can see what we want in coincidences.

I want to see that as a little sign that it's all going to be okay. That this is real and right.

Twenty-two.