(no subject)
last night in baltimore for a while. as usual, sleep deprived, not yet packed. i'll have to make sense of this later. i never thought this city would become home, but it did in enormous ways.
i graduated a little over two months ago and have been fortunate to live out of a suitcase ever since.
wichita --> dc --> tisvilde, dk --> amsterdam --> brussels --> the hague --> copenhagen --> carlisle x 2 --> nyc --> baltimore --> dc (x often) --> camping --> chicago --> wichita for august
but a few weeks ago i returned to baltimore to pretend that it wasn't over. my window looks out over the most atrocious intersection in baltimore--smelly, noisy, ugly--but this was the place i read, wrote, loved, and hosted the infamous 601 parties. my windowsill is stained from the heap of a hundredsome teabags and covered in the dust of dry jasmine leaves from the past two autumns.
i never know how to leave places. especially this one. but it feels weird writing in here now, because i feel worlds and years away from how i did when this journal began. it sounds strange, but i think if one thing was supposed to happen during this time, it happened, and i'm not even quite sure what it was. miles to go, still, but an attempt at becoming*? but if nothing else, how damned improbable this ALL is, and to that, gratitude.
*james, william. a pluralistic universe. as taught to me by william e. connolly.