okay gah entry time entry time
Hello stream of consciousness free writing, I've missed you. Apologies all around to all who have seen this.
Right now the air conditioning is on and I'm not sure if I like that because even though it means that I'm cool it also means that it's just ONE MORE WAY that I can't hack it here in DC, even though it wasn't me who turned it on. And I need to get out of the house more often than I do and I need to go and see the world but isn't that what I've been doing for a while?
What am I running to? What am I running from? Why am I running to begin with?
I've moved so much over the past few years that sometimes it seems like I've forgotten what home is beyond the warm embraces of friends and family. And I've had winters at 7 below zero and summers at 112 above and I've made some coffee and worked at an election and all kinds of things but I'm still not happy or maybe I am all the time.
I'm actually happy all the time. Unless I'm getting angsty. Like now.
It was my 24th birthday today and what do I have to show for it? 20k in student loans, no credit card debt yet but a rent bill that has to get paid and no job at all, not even a little bit. I kind of thought it would be easier. And I'm good at this whole networking thing when I remember that I'm good at it and able to engage, but that takes effort and really it's an effort to get out of bed in the morning when all I have to look forward to is a cup of coffee at Sticky Fingers and sometimes a cupcake but that also is super unhealthy and I haven't been running which could, lo and behold, be part of the reason why the angst curve is so damn high.
I'll return to the concept of home because that's where my head's at right now, in a couple of different ways. I learned in Chile that home was where you are, that the only way home is inside yourself, and that James Joyce once said that the longest way round is the fastest way home. I guess I'm testing that part out right now too. I've got home inside of me, because I feel like a hollow pot sometimes, with a turquoise sky like the sky over an Arizona sunset when the wind is just right. I know where home is, I know I'm a cowboy and a sponge, that I would be the one around the campfire with the guitar and the songs and the one who you'd come to with your snakebite and heartache.
I need to buy some cowboy boots.
I think they come tattooed on my heart.
Besides, nobody's made them with birkenstocks, which is really what I need.
I remember this conversation I had with my dad one time when I asked if there were ever a situation where he felt completely in control of everything in the world. He said no, that he would imagine that the only time he would feel that way is if you walked into a bank with a gun and told everyone to get down on the floor. And then he paused and said, "Well, I remember being in my twenties, and just feeling like the entire world was at my fingertips."
And I sometimes wonder. Is that what I'm doing here? Is the world at my fingertips? I mean, it's a great time to be a live because there's so much good work that needs to be done. And everything's amazing. And nobody's happy, not even me. not even the air conditioning.
It's hot like summer here, which is fine, but I wanted more time with my flowers. And when it turns into summer then I might as well be in Arizona, where they don't know how to do sweet tea but they do know how to do tamales and horchata.
My friend has a doug fir tattooed on her heart, and I have the parched and lovely desert on mine.
The patron saint of Arizona is Our Lady of the Highways.
The patron saint of Washington state is Our Lady of Good Help.
And the patron saint of Washington, DC is Our Immaculate Queen.
They're all the same, but they are three very different things. My Santa Maria is brown, sister to Guadalupe, or perhaps the same. She rides a dusty road. Maybe that's my road home.
Right now the air conditioning is on and I'm not sure if I like that because even though it means that I'm cool it also means that it's just ONE MORE WAY that I can't hack it here in DC, even though it wasn't me who turned it on. And I need to get out of the house more often than I do and I need to go and see the world but isn't that what I've been doing for a while?
What am I running to? What am I running from? Why am I running to begin with?
I've moved so much over the past few years that sometimes it seems like I've forgotten what home is beyond the warm embraces of friends and family. And I've had winters at 7 below zero and summers at 112 above and I've made some coffee and worked at an election and all kinds of things but I'm still not happy or maybe I am all the time.
I'm actually happy all the time. Unless I'm getting angsty. Like now.
It was my 24th birthday today and what do I have to show for it? 20k in student loans, no credit card debt yet but a rent bill that has to get paid and no job at all, not even a little bit. I kind of thought it would be easier. And I'm good at this whole networking thing when I remember that I'm good at it and able to engage, but that takes effort and really it's an effort to get out of bed in the morning when all I have to look forward to is a cup of coffee at Sticky Fingers and sometimes a cupcake but that also is super unhealthy and I haven't been running which could, lo and behold, be part of the reason why the angst curve is so damn high.
I'll return to the concept of home because that's where my head's at right now, in a couple of different ways. I learned in Chile that home was where you are, that the only way home is inside yourself, and that James Joyce once said that the longest way round is the fastest way home. I guess I'm testing that part out right now too. I've got home inside of me, because I feel like a hollow pot sometimes, with a turquoise sky like the sky over an Arizona sunset when the wind is just right. I know where home is, I know I'm a cowboy and a sponge, that I would be the one around the campfire with the guitar and the songs and the one who you'd come to with your snakebite and heartache.
I need to buy some cowboy boots.
I think they come tattooed on my heart.
Besides, nobody's made them with birkenstocks, which is really what I need.
I remember this conversation I had with my dad one time when I asked if there were ever a situation where he felt completely in control of everything in the world. He said no, that he would imagine that the only time he would feel that way is if you walked into a bank with a gun and told everyone to get down on the floor. And then he paused and said, "Well, I remember being in my twenties, and just feeling like the entire world was at my fingertips."
And I sometimes wonder. Is that what I'm doing here? Is the world at my fingertips? I mean, it's a great time to be a live because there's so much good work that needs to be done. And everything's amazing. And nobody's happy, not even me. not even the air conditioning.
It's hot like summer here, which is fine, but I wanted more time with my flowers. And when it turns into summer then I might as well be in Arizona, where they don't know how to do sweet tea but they do know how to do tamales and horchata.
My friend has a doug fir tattooed on her heart, and I have the parched and lovely desert on mine.
The patron saint of Arizona is Our Lady of the Highways.
The patron saint of Washington state is Our Lady of Good Help.
And the patron saint of Washington, DC is Our Immaculate Queen.
They're all the same, but they are three very different things. My Santa Maria is brown, sister to Guadalupe, or perhaps the same. She rides a dusty road. Maybe that's my road home.