I’m always looking forward.
Maybe it’s not healthy, but it’s what I do. For example, right now, I’m looking forward to getting back to Toronto in the new year, and having crazy adventures. I’m looking forward to the time when I finally have a boyfriend, and some semblance of a sex life. I’m looking forward to moving in with Sharon in September, and decorating with aggressively erotic werewolf drawings, and building fortpartment. I’m looking forward to not procrastinating this next semester.
And there’s nothing wrong with that, if it was only a part of what I do. But really, it takes over my life. I spend hours looking for furniture online, because I know that in the summer, I’ll get to buy it. I think constantly about what life will be like when I’m with someone, and how I just really, really want to make out with someone in a blanket fort. But I’m not doing things now. I’m just planning for the future. So the present kind of sucks.
I think I do this because I need to maintain hope. Hope that it’ll be better, that I’ll be better.
Theoretically, things could be good now. I could embrace the fact that I don’t live with Sharon, that I live with three not-quite-friends and a stranger. I mean, I could put werewolf porn on the walls when I get back to Toronto in January. (I won’t, because I want to maintain the specialness of the future Sharon-and-Nicole land.) But what I mean is that I could make the apartment feel like home. But I don’t do that. And I wonder if maybe I’ll always be living in the future, never in the present. Always anticipating the good times, and never living them.