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I’m awake, there’s no helping it. I bop the alarm clock. 12:30. A half hour after midnight when all the world’s asleep—except for me.

Great.

I’m awake, my mind tells me to get up soon for school even though it’s Saturday. I tell my mind to hush up and let me fall back asleep. But just like the rest of my stubborn self, my mind refuses to rest.

My mind never listens to logic, it has a mind of its own; quite literally. No joke.

Did you know that one of the ancient forms of writing was called ‘cuneiform’? This writing was made with a reed and so the imprints were wedge-shaped. I learned that in history class the other day. I’m quite brilliant, aren’t I? Actually, I learned that a long while back. Mom taught it to me when I was homeschooling.

I pause and look at my own handwriting; it’s a mess, though I can understand it just fine. It finally got to a point where not even Brit could read it; which is amazing since she’s been my friend since I was eleven.

My handwriting is scrabbly; the strokes of black ink all connect though it’s not cursive. I can’t really write in cursive; I will never be elegant or ladylike. I am a tomboy and a writer; I cannot be elegant. Ever.

Did you know that if you write enough you can drive up a wedge and throw two things apart? Wedges separate, forcing you to say goodbye.

I have friends on campus; of course I do, what social student doesn’t? To not have friends is to be abnormal, a recluse, eccentric. In short—a writer.

I don’t want to make friends. I hate having to say goodbye, I hate crying until I can’t cry anymore. I hate feeling like there’s a lead weight on my soul. I can’t make friends. I can’t say goodbye anymore. I hate wedges that force people apart.

But I know I will make friends, I always do. I love my friends; we laugh and chat and I feel normal and not so sad. I will force myself to forget I will have to say goodbye one day. Besides, friendships aren’t supposed to be about you. Friends help each other stand up.

I have a hard time standing tall and noble; I fall to the ground so often. I’m lucky if I manage to fall to my knees in humility before my Savior. Most times I just fall to the ground in a prideful heap; then I am ashamed of myself and Jesus has to pick me up, dust me off, and set my on His way once again.

Wedges are a result of fear, protection, and self-preservation; the result of not wanting to feel the pain of a goodbye.

I don’t like wedges, but I know they exist. I set some up myself.

I will learn how to deal with wedges; perhaps one day I will understand them. Right now they utterly confuse me. Maybe I will understand them when I get older.

One day I will stop being Peter Pan and will just grow up.

But not quite yet.

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