Blue Lights & Strange Saturdays

I’m sitting alone in my room, lit only by a dim, deep blue light above me. It feels almost psychedelic. Maybe it’s the lighting, or maybe it's the fact that I just woke up and still feel a little lost in between dreams and reality—lightheaded, like I’ve been floating through the day without fully waking up.

Scrolling through Facebook, I see a flood of “Last Day of College” posts. Farewell pictures. Big grins, teary eyes, celebratory captions. Just a few months ago—eight to be exact—I was there too. That final day, saying goodbyes. And then, without much warning, life happened. I landed a job, routines formed, and the whirlwind of adulthood began.

Today, though, there’s a strange drowsiness I can’t shake. I haven’t touched a drop of alcohol, yet I feel slightly drunk on emotions, or maybe on the weight of everything unsaid. Should I pour myself a glass of scotch? Or vodka? Not to drown anything—just to feel something new?

The walls around me feel heavy tonight. Like they’re watching. Holding me in. Like they’re trying to remind me of something, drag me back to the here and now, not letting my mind wander too far. But how can you not want to escape sometimes?

If I could, I’d time-travel to Mars and back—just for the absurdity of it. Just to meet someone else weird enough to think that sounds like a good plan. Someone to laugh with, dine with, vibe with, and just be silly in this serious world.

It’s Saturday evening. I should be out right now. I usually would be. But strangely enough, today I just want to be. No crowd, no chaos—just me, music, and this blue-lit room. Is that odd? Maybe. But I’ll let the wild out tomorrow.

Weekends always feel too short when you finally start settling into yourself.

And sometimes, just sometimes, I find myself leaning over the balcony railing, just a little... curious about what’s next. Not out of fear or despair. Just wondering what tomorrow might bring. What version of me will show up when the sun rises again.

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