Lonely
It is stranger than I thought it would be to have over half of my stuff in storage, to not really have a place that is entirely for me. I roam from Dan's to Mom's and now I'll be off to Sarah's in Portland for a couple weeks---if you write me, send it to 716 N. Russett St, Portland OR 97217. I'll be in one place and wish for the things in the others or just feel frustrated with the lifestyle. Suitcases. A trashed car. I don't think I'll get much work done on my novel the way I thought I would living like this. Here and there. But I can say that I see it in its entirety now, I see everything clearly.
Today I went up to the school campus to work. I ended up working on "Eventual" a short memoir piece about a friend of mine---remember Jason??---telling me a story of an accident he was in when he was younger...did I ever show you that one? It's the greatest thing I've ever written. I think it's finally done. I can't decide if I'll try to just get it published as a story or try to create a small book of memoirs. There aren't too many literary journals that publish memoir pieces. It's almost worth submitting it as fiction, but it's just not fiction. I just don't know if I have any other memoir ideas that would work with this one. I've thought of "These Men I Have Known" but I can't remember all the stories I've known from boys. Any ideas?
I also worked on some other nonfiction pieces but they aren't anywhere near the same, just essays. I tried to work on a poem but couldn't feel it.
I guess the novel scares me. So I'm reading "War and Peace" which is supposed to be the definitive novel of all time. I'm a hundred pages in. It really is incredible.
I wish we lived closer. I wish I would have been a better friend in Austin. So lonely now.