Rainy day.
I wake up. Underwater again, it seems. I gasp for air, and I struggle to clear my vision. Shapes are fuzzy. Where am I? This seems unfamiliar, hostile.
This is home. This is your life.
I stumble out of bed, my head still a bit cloudy from beer the night before. I didn't drink that much, did I? Not as much as usual. (or possible) I go over my dreams. They still linger on my eye lids like a lovers kiss. My entire body, every bone, every blood cell feels them. I shiver; I left the AC on a little too cold again. My dream rolls over me like waves. I am pulled under. Nostalgia once again plays its hand; I always lose. I am once again surrounded by lush landscapes and tall mountains. The air is thin but clean, and I breathe in an existence so sweet and full of promise that sometimes that in itself can be suffocating.
The waves come again.
Days like this do remind me of a time far north. The sky clouds my eyes, my skin is smooth from the moisture in the air. My hair is a little less straight, my heart is a little more heavy. I ruin shoes in puddles; I have to be impractical. I want to ride my bike, but I have no destination. Out my window there is green, but it is an illusion. Once I leave my little nitch that is downtown, the world will become post apocalyptic brown and dust again. My skin feels unfamiliar. I want to travel, I want to meet new people. I want this all to be a little easier, I want the economy to improve so I can go to a diner at 1am and reflect over journals and coffee. (can't remember the last time that happened either. Again, with the nostalgia)
The waves come again.
In my dreams my mother is asking me if I want to move to California with them. She says, "Either come with us, or stay here, or go back to Flagstaff." I struggle to make up excuses to not go to California. I say, "I'm 22 years old, I can't move somewhere new, it's impossible to meet anyone!" I think of Flagstaff and realize there is nothing else I would rather do, but I am held back. I tell the little blond boy that I won't leave him. Is this is a mistake? In my dream he seems distant and uncaring to whether or not I go. He stands at a distance and ignores my looks.
Last night, I realized that parties are perhaps not for me anymore. I feel out of place, not hip enough, without the urge to get wasted. I suppose it is because I was trying to form genuine connections with people that are less so. Maybe I am being too judgmental, which I really haven't been lately, but everything just seemed off. My best friend and roommate is a social (drunk) butterfly as usual. He stumbles around, trying to make the most of every second of his existence. He loves this; he loves life. I ask if he is coming home, he replies no, someone will take him to work the next day. He does this often. He never stays at home, he's always sleeping on floors and couches, even though our apartment is incredibly wonderful. I try to understand how he doesn't need a home.
I return home only to find someone has parked in my spot. Thus, I have to park across the street, and walk to my apartment in the rain. My shoes are soaked, it's 1am, the blond one is mad at me, I'm a bit buzzed. I feel incredibly alone and lost as the rain slides across my skin. The sky is dark, everyone is sleeping but me. I am trudging through the mud, in the dark, looking for home. Wanting to be warm, content, and satisfied. I feel I will continue to hurt those around me until I get what I want. I am flawed this way. I never used to be an angry person, but lately I have given to bouts of rage and border line madness. I lash out, I make more snide remarks than usual. I feel like I am on a crash course. I am trying to improve my place in time, I am trying to be better.
But I feel I am drowning, I am flailing, I cannot find the surface, nor the bottom. I am here, I am screaming, but no one hears me.
This is home. This is your life.
I stumble out of bed, my head still a bit cloudy from beer the night before. I didn't drink that much, did I? Not as much as usual. (or possible) I go over my dreams. They still linger on my eye lids like a lovers kiss. My entire body, every bone, every blood cell feels them. I shiver; I left the AC on a little too cold again. My dream rolls over me like waves. I am pulled under. Nostalgia once again plays its hand; I always lose. I am once again surrounded by lush landscapes and tall mountains. The air is thin but clean, and I breathe in an existence so sweet and full of promise that sometimes that in itself can be suffocating.
The waves come again.
Days like this do remind me of a time far north. The sky clouds my eyes, my skin is smooth from the moisture in the air. My hair is a little less straight, my heart is a little more heavy. I ruin shoes in puddles; I have to be impractical. I want to ride my bike, but I have no destination. Out my window there is green, but it is an illusion. Once I leave my little nitch that is downtown, the world will become post apocalyptic brown and dust again. My skin feels unfamiliar. I want to travel, I want to meet new people. I want this all to be a little easier, I want the economy to improve so I can go to a diner at 1am and reflect over journals and coffee. (can't remember the last time that happened either. Again, with the nostalgia)
The waves come again.
In my dreams my mother is asking me if I want to move to California with them. She says, "Either come with us, or stay here, or go back to Flagstaff." I struggle to make up excuses to not go to California. I say, "I'm 22 years old, I can't move somewhere new, it's impossible to meet anyone!" I think of Flagstaff and realize there is nothing else I would rather do, but I am held back. I tell the little blond boy that I won't leave him. Is this is a mistake? In my dream he seems distant and uncaring to whether or not I go. He stands at a distance and ignores my looks.
Last night, I realized that parties are perhaps not for me anymore. I feel out of place, not hip enough, without the urge to get wasted. I suppose it is because I was trying to form genuine connections with people that are less so. Maybe I am being too judgmental, which I really haven't been lately, but everything just seemed off. My best friend and roommate is a social (drunk) butterfly as usual. He stumbles around, trying to make the most of every second of his existence. He loves this; he loves life. I ask if he is coming home, he replies no, someone will take him to work the next day. He does this often. He never stays at home, he's always sleeping on floors and couches, even though our apartment is incredibly wonderful. I try to understand how he doesn't need a home.
I return home only to find someone has parked in my spot. Thus, I have to park across the street, and walk to my apartment in the rain. My shoes are soaked, it's 1am, the blond one is mad at me, I'm a bit buzzed. I feel incredibly alone and lost as the rain slides across my skin. The sky is dark, everyone is sleeping but me. I am trudging through the mud, in the dark, looking for home. Wanting to be warm, content, and satisfied. I feel I will continue to hurt those around me until I get what I want. I am flawed this way. I never used to be an angry person, but lately I have given to bouts of rage and border line madness. I lash out, I make more snide remarks than usual. I feel like I am on a crash course. I am trying to improve my place in time, I am trying to be better.
But I feel I am drowning, I am flailing, I cannot find the surface, nor the bottom. I am here, I am screaming, but no one hears me.