You make me so nervous

I hate this weekend.

I hate these three days, and I hate them more than I think anyone knows. I hate them for reasons I want to talk about, and reasons I don't. Just everything about it kind of kills me inside a little. Well, to be honest, a lot.

Now, I don't hate it because of recent developments in my life. They don't help with the three day inner turmoil, but I disliked this weekend long before. To me, it's an ending, stuck right smack dab in the middle of a beginning. It brings back times I had before, and it brings back times I can never have again. It also brings up the promise of new times, but with the hesitancy that comes alone with all new adventures.

If you've grasped anything from my posts, or from me as a person in general, I do poorly with change. Sameness is safety to me. I know that's terrible, and I've definitely gotten better. Believe me. I've grown above and beyond, as far as to embrace change and accept going with the flow. I used to cry everytime a good book ended, or it was time for a break in school.

However. This weekend brings me to things that I have a hard time dealing with. For as long as I can remember, my years don't start in January and end in December, but start and end in those fragile weeks between August and September. That time of year where school supplies begin to sprout everywhere, and days seem to slow to almost a stop. The inevitable end of late nights at the beach, splattered with ice cream cones and sunburns, as well as the inevitable start of 6:30 mornings, bus stops and band class.

It's an end and a fresh start all rolled into a couple of weeks. I mean, I had already cried when school ended the June before, but the tears didn't come with the start. What came with the start was the pit of apprehension, swirling through my body, of the unknown. New classes, new challenges, new accomplishments to achieve.

Now that I'm in college, those feelings come before right before school starts and wreck their havoc. But nonetheless, they come back now, even with the start of school behind me. I try to squash them, and prove to them that I don't need them, but still they come back. It must have been like this when the Pilgrims set out across the ocean. That jump, that reckless abandon that allowed them to fall asleep each night, knowing that they wouldn't sail over the edge while lost in their dreams.  I mean, it's the same feeling I'd like to think. Totally different situation, though I can't help but compare the feeling.

This weekend haunts me. And as much as I want to, I can't seem to shake it.