A paragraph of word vomit (essay)

I turned my bag upside down and scrambled to the floor. Chasing after every single quarter I have left. I’ve been saving my money for the exact moment to call you. To phone home. To avoid using the words right and wrong because what's the point in pointing fingers. I’m going to end up on the floor anyway. They pushed me, they begged me, they pounded me to count every single piece of loose strand of hair I could find as I lay there to cry. I have so much to think about. So many existential thoughts that never end. I want to lie on an operating table while aliens examine my liver and lungs so long as they sedate me first. It doesn't matter where on earth they drop me off. Anywhere is better than concrete and polluted air. I’ll save my money so that one day I may be able to breathe underwater. I want to think so hard that I end up in the middle of the Atlantic one day, and the next, watch lava gurgle down a cliff like a waterfall that woke up. I hope this call wakes you up. I hope the sound of my voice doesn't sound foreign from inside this box. I want to need to use a phone box. To not know what a smartphone is. To have grown up in the forties, fifties, sixties. As a kid, I wanted to be mentioned in a history book. I wanted to experience “the olden times” the way that my dad or aunt or grandmother did. To stay outside all day with my friends before my mom flashed the porch lights warning me that my dinner was getting cold.