It’s strange, how time slowly stopped making sense somewhere along the way.

Before, there were school planners, calendars on walls, an authoritative but soothing voice, a routine to remind me what was happening and when it had to happen and what when I was in.

It’s all a mess now. If time was a line that had a beginning and an end, it would be tangled mess, like wired headphones fished out of a pocket or one of those rainbow slinkies that’s been bounced around a few too many times, the ones that no matter how many times you straighten them out, the minute you try to handle them again, play with them, they break. Lose form.

I don’t know what I’m saying anymore, or why. The silence is too much and I’m just trying to fill it with noise.

I’m sorry. I hate it here.