(no subject)
Christ I'm tired.
Might be from the run... but I doubt it.
Might be from the anxiety of starting a new job
or packing up the past 19 years of my life
or coming across evidence of all the things I thought I had long since buried...
Junior High. Holy fuck. I'll never stop being amazed that any of us survived it.
My eyes are dry and my shoulders keep cramping up on me. Are we really moving out of Nashua? I mean, really? How sure are we that Nashua is a place that can be left? We've been here so long that it felt there was no choice in the matter. We were assigned here, somehow. Positioned here like soldiers at a military base. something about the line of duty, serve and protect.
I don't remember anyone saying we could leave if we wanted to.
Sometimes its hard to remember that those little freedoms are still intact, after everything thats happened. Especially after reading the handmaid's tale (haven't read it? READIT)
Growing up is becoming very real, all the BIG milestones are there...
moving out of your childhood city
living in an apartment
paying rent
paying loans/bills
graduating college in a few months...
Even my relationships are feeling more adult, which is a strange word to use to describe anything, trust me, I know. But yesterday I went out to buy queen sized sheets because Ma is giving me her bed. Not that buying sheets is adult, or even that queen sized sheets are a measurement of maturity.... but I accepted the bed and went out to buy sheets for it because that will be the bed alex and I sleep in when we move in together. I even texted him on color preference. Red, by the way. Like the walls on "my room" in Manchester. My mom refuses to acknowledge that I might not move back in with her after I move out in August. I asked her what she'll do with "my room" when I'm gone. Nothing, she says. That's going to be your room.
Ohhhh. But mom...what will it be when I am not in it? It must be harder for parents to let go than it is for us to move on. Whats that song quote... "its always easier to be leaving than to be left behind." fuck that's true.
One of the strangest things (one of very many) about moving out has been finding everything I've written. Dozens of notebooks, stacks and stacks of looseleaf paper, computer paper from when I had my typewriter, backsides of notes from class, tucked into high school agenda books... the volume of writing has blown me away. revisiting all the versions of myself and always, through all of it, I was writing. I miss that. I wish I hadn't abandoned that. Everything stops at freshman year. A few pieces that squeezed in during the early part of first semester, and then silence. Like I hung up the phone on myself, no longer interested in what I had to say. Or maybe, no longer patient enough to put thought into word.
I miss it.
Might be from the run... but I doubt it.
Might be from the anxiety of starting a new job
or packing up the past 19 years of my life
or coming across evidence of all the things I thought I had long since buried...
Junior High. Holy fuck. I'll never stop being amazed that any of us survived it.
My eyes are dry and my shoulders keep cramping up on me. Are we really moving out of Nashua? I mean, really? How sure are we that Nashua is a place that can be left? We've been here so long that it felt there was no choice in the matter. We were assigned here, somehow. Positioned here like soldiers at a military base. something about the line of duty, serve and protect.
I don't remember anyone saying we could leave if we wanted to.
Sometimes its hard to remember that those little freedoms are still intact, after everything thats happened. Especially after reading the handmaid's tale (haven't read it? READIT)
Growing up is becoming very real, all the BIG milestones are there...
moving out of your childhood city
living in an apartment
paying rent
paying loans/bills
graduating college in a few months...
Even my relationships are feeling more adult, which is a strange word to use to describe anything, trust me, I know. But yesterday I went out to buy queen sized sheets because Ma is giving me her bed. Not that buying sheets is adult, or even that queen sized sheets are a measurement of maturity.... but I accepted the bed and went out to buy sheets for it because that will be the bed alex and I sleep in when we move in together. I even texted him on color preference. Red, by the way. Like the walls on "my room" in Manchester. My mom refuses to acknowledge that I might not move back in with her after I move out in August. I asked her what she'll do with "my room" when I'm gone. Nothing, she says. That's going to be your room.
Ohhhh. But mom...what will it be when I am not in it? It must be harder for parents to let go than it is for us to move on. Whats that song quote... "its always easier to be leaving than to be left behind." fuck that's true.
One of the strangest things (one of very many) about moving out has been finding everything I've written. Dozens of notebooks, stacks and stacks of looseleaf paper, computer paper from when I had my typewriter, backsides of notes from class, tucked into high school agenda books... the volume of writing has blown me away. revisiting all the versions of myself and always, through all of it, I was writing. I miss that. I wish I hadn't abandoned that. Everything stops at freshman year. A few pieces that squeezed in during the early part of first semester, and then silence. Like I hung up the phone on myself, no longer interested in what I had to say. Or maybe, no longer patient enough to put thought into word.
I miss it.