(no subject)
Confused.
I keep thinking I'm going to write a long entry about everything that's going on, but I don't have the energy.
I don't know what I want to do with myself. I don't know where to go, what to do, where to live. I definitely know I'm not happy sitting here uncertain again in this Las Vegas hotel room.
I spent a month in Ohio with my family and friends. There were a lot of really beautiful things about that that made me realize that maybe I was foolish to have left it in the first place. But since I did leave, 17 and brash with a head full of dreams... after spending a month there again, I'm pretty sure my adventurers spirit wouldn't let me stay. I can see how my life would play out if I did. It would be a nice life. But I can't do it, I can't just choose something that I know how it will turn out. I've always been a gambler.
I definitely miss Los Angeles. I miss the colors, I miss the sunshine, I miss the way flowers grow on everything, even guard rails and medians. I miss all of my friends and lovers that live there. I miss the sense of freedom, hope and expectation that at one time I used to experience waking up there every day. I miss the beaches and canyons. It feels like the safe an obvious place to go, as comforting and familiar by now as my childhood home. But do I really want to do that again, chain myself to scraping up a thousand dollars a month to pay for a small apartment with ugly carpet and walls that have been painted over too many times? Devote my days to hiking and yoga and lounging in the sun, my nights to drinking expensive cocktails with the psuedo celebrity du jour?
I'm not drinking for now. My doctor thinks I might have a virus that would explain my constant pain and fatigue and my liver needs to be left alone to fight it. She's got me on milk thistle and 6000 mg a day of vitamin C, awaiting blood test results.
I want to run away. Somewhere where they don't speak English and the history of the place is so heavy that it makes me forget myself. I've been thinking about Naples or Florence, or maybe the south of France.
But that, I've done so many times, and I know that in the end all that running does is make me see quite clearly how badly I want a place to belong to.
I want a place full of flowers, a garden, with walls painted in healing colors and a whole wall of books. Silk bedding and a kitchen where I can make beautiful meals out of fresh fruits and vegetables, shelf space where I can make and store herbal medicines. Maybe a piano, definitely my guitars. A clean empty dark wood desk and freshly sharpened pencils. A place where I have the time and serenity to be and create loveliness. Maybe someone or a handful of someones to notice and appreciate it, but thats not even necessary. I just want the time and space to be myself somewhere. I guess that's what pretty much everyone wants and easier said than done, right?
Anyways, my heart is in San Francisco.
I keep thinking I'm going to write a long entry about everything that's going on, but I don't have the energy.
I don't know what I want to do with myself. I don't know where to go, what to do, where to live. I definitely know I'm not happy sitting here uncertain again in this Las Vegas hotel room.
I spent a month in Ohio with my family and friends. There were a lot of really beautiful things about that that made me realize that maybe I was foolish to have left it in the first place. But since I did leave, 17 and brash with a head full of dreams... after spending a month there again, I'm pretty sure my adventurers spirit wouldn't let me stay. I can see how my life would play out if I did. It would be a nice life. But I can't do it, I can't just choose something that I know how it will turn out. I've always been a gambler.
I definitely miss Los Angeles. I miss the colors, I miss the sunshine, I miss the way flowers grow on everything, even guard rails and medians. I miss all of my friends and lovers that live there. I miss the sense of freedom, hope and expectation that at one time I used to experience waking up there every day. I miss the beaches and canyons. It feels like the safe an obvious place to go, as comforting and familiar by now as my childhood home. But do I really want to do that again, chain myself to scraping up a thousand dollars a month to pay for a small apartment with ugly carpet and walls that have been painted over too many times? Devote my days to hiking and yoga and lounging in the sun, my nights to drinking expensive cocktails with the psuedo celebrity du jour?
I'm not drinking for now. My doctor thinks I might have a virus that would explain my constant pain and fatigue and my liver needs to be left alone to fight it. She's got me on milk thistle and 6000 mg a day of vitamin C, awaiting blood test results.
I want to run away. Somewhere where they don't speak English and the history of the place is so heavy that it makes me forget myself. I've been thinking about Naples or Florence, or maybe the south of France.
But that, I've done so many times, and I know that in the end all that running does is make me see quite clearly how badly I want a place to belong to.
I want a place full of flowers, a garden, with walls painted in healing colors and a whole wall of books. Silk bedding and a kitchen where I can make beautiful meals out of fresh fruits and vegetables, shelf space where I can make and store herbal medicines. Maybe a piano, definitely my guitars. A clean empty dark wood desk and freshly sharpened pencils. A place where I have the time and serenity to be and create loveliness. Maybe someone or a handful of someones to notice and appreciate it, but thats not even necessary. I just want the time and space to be myself somewhere. I guess that's what pretty much everyone wants and easier said than done, right?
Anyways, my heart is in San Francisco.