Am I a part of the cure, or am I part of the disease...
I've got to get out of here.
I've been escaping all my life, taking off without anyone knowing, packing up my shit and moving all the way across the world -- in my head. The truth is, I never do this thing that I really want to do, I'm not brave enough or smart enough or rich enough or strong enough to just go away and tell everyone in my life about it only when I get there, and start over. The truth is, it's my biggest fantasy. The truth is, if my id had her way, I'd never stay in a place longer than nine months.
But the truth is, I'm a housecat, not a rocket girl. I get choked up when I think of the word "home". I need a place to write from and draw from, windows to look out of, a bed that smells like me, a place to keep my cat, a shelf for my books and knicknacks and things. Maybe this place ought to be somewhere exotic -- this island, for example, satisfies my need for adventure in a lot of different ways -- but at the end of the day my heart, my tender, squooshy, badly knitted, partially unraveling heart, needs a couch with my cat on it, and this, my computer, the Beast's magic mirror looking outside.
I accept that I will not do what I've pretended I always wanted to do. I will not book passage to Puerto Rico and live alone in the jungle for weeks in search of El Chupacabra. I will not fly to India and live among the elephants. I will not go to New Zealand. Maybe ever.
I'm on the verge of a lot of big kid things. I have to find a new home by the end of next month or I'll be homeless. I keep looking through advertisements that say things like "1/1, w/d, 1p, pt. furn." and all I can think is, do I want to stay here? I'm increasingly alone, dealing with a mother who is moving out, a sister with a new best friend, and a boyfriend who is living with his old roommate, whose schedule is opposite from mine, who swears that he loves me and wants to be with me, but it feels like something is missing. Right now a lot is up in the air. His new job, us finding a place by mid-August, coming up with money we don't have -- who has time to get mushy with each other? I understand, it's just I'm new at this. He shows me a lot of love, but at the end of the night, he still goes to his place and I'm alone in mine, and I feel like maybe I need something else. We didn't say goodbye the right way because I was holding back and thinking about how it's not time for what I want, not yet. We need to get ourselves in place, get an apartment, get a secure job, put a little money away, and then our minds will be free of all these worries. Then maybe I'll discover that he's what I want in the longrun, not just this moment when I love him. He won't see this, because he doesn't read this journal, which bothers me a little.
I feel like I'm being pulled away from, by everyone here who is important to me. I've been feeling that way for a while. It makes me want to secretly move to Portland, to London, to Papua New Guinea, and tell everyone only after I get there.
This is just the id talking. Inside, I know that I'm happy, or am going to be happy, that it's not time for me to give up on all these good things that I care very much about, that I couldn't just pick up and go because I love them all too much. Even when it lets me down, even when I get disappointed, even when the whole thing falls apart and I get my heart broken, I love them. It's good to depend on people, even if it hurts sometimes. I guess that's when you realize you love them instead of just like them.
I'm in a better place now than when I started writing this, possibly all because he called to make sure we were all right. Yeah, we're all right.
I've been escaping all my life, taking off without anyone knowing, packing up my shit and moving all the way across the world -- in my head. The truth is, I never do this thing that I really want to do, I'm not brave enough or smart enough or rich enough or strong enough to just go away and tell everyone in my life about it only when I get there, and start over. The truth is, it's my biggest fantasy. The truth is, if my id had her way, I'd never stay in a place longer than nine months.
But the truth is, I'm a housecat, not a rocket girl. I get choked up when I think of the word "home". I need a place to write from and draw from, windows to look out of, a bed that smells like me, a place to keep my cat, a shelf for my books and knicknacks and things. Maybe this place ought to be somewhere exotic -- this island, for example, satisfies my need for adventure in a lot of different ways -- but at the end of the day my heart, my tender, squooshy, badly knitted, partially unraveling heart, needs a couch with my cat on it, and this, my computer, the Beast's magic mirror looking outside.
I accept that I will not do what I've pretended I always wanted to do. I will not book passage to Puerto Rico and live alone in the jungle for weeks in search of El Chupacabra. I will not fly to India and live among the elephants. I will not go to New Zealand. Maybe ever.
I'm on the verge of a lot of big kid things. I have to find a new home by the end of next month or I'll be homeless. I keep looking through advertisements that say things like "1/1, w/d, 1p, pt. furn." and all I can think is, do I want to stay here? I'm increasingly alone, dealing with a mother who is moving out, a sister with a new best friend, and a boyfriend who is living with his old roommate, whose schedule is opposite from mine, who swears that he loves me and wants to be with me, but it feels like something is missing. Right now a lot is up in the air. His new job, us finding a place by mid-August, coming up with money we don't have -- who has time to get mushy with each other? I understand, it's just I'm new at this. He shows me a lot of love, but at the end of the night, he still goes to his place and I'm alone in mine, and I feel like maybe I need something else. We didn't say goodbye the right way because I was holding back and thinking about how it's not time for what I want, not yet. We need to get ourselves in place, get an apartment, get a secure job, put a little money away, and then our minds will be free of all these worries. Then maybe I'll discover that he's what I want in the longrun, not just this moment when I love him. He won't see this, because he doesn't read this journal, which bothers me a little.
I feel like I'm being pulled away from, by everyone here who is important to me. I've been feeling that way for a while. It makes me want to secretly move to Portland, to London, to Papua New Guinea, and tell everyone only after I get there.
This is just the id talking. Inside, I know that I'm happy, or am going to be happy, that it's not time for me to give up on all these good things that I care very much about, that I couldn't just pick up and go because I love them all too much. Even when it lets me down, even when I get disappointed, even when the whole thing falls apart and I get my heart broken, I love them. It's good to depend on people, even if it hurts sometimes. I guess that's when you realize you love them instead of just like them.
I'm in a better place now than when I started writing this, possibly all because he called to make sure we were all right. Yeah, we're all right.