most illicit substances make me feel the same;
i laugh and then i get very quiet.
i am currently unemployed (until august; the decision has been made to move to detroit) and sitting around my apartment for the next three weeks or so. it feels good and bad and many things. i am constantly many things.
the saddest thing about leaving here is realizing all the friends i didn't make.
the second saddest thing is leaving the friends i did make.
the third saddest thing is that i am always leaving.
things come in threes.
i don't know why i'm going to detroit, honestly. i think it's just because it's something, and i needed something, and it was so easy to believe in. and i couldn't stay here. not really. i want to, sometimes, but it would be lonely and i feel like i have already failed here, somehow. i sit on my hands too often. i become afraid of phones and people and too many other things, but maybe if i move i won't be afraid of those things anymore (i tell myself every two years). besides, moving is adventurous and i can't disappoint anyone that way, in my head. plus, detroit is in michigan and i love michigan. and detroit is dying and maybe if i believe in detroit's aliveness, i can believe in my own aliveness. something has to be good there. something has to be good.
i just wish i could nurture the few friendships that i made here. i just wish that i could keep people in jars and carry them with me. i just wish letter-writing were still a common practice. i just wish i didn't lose people so easily, like i did last time and worry i will this time.
i took a walk for hours today. i don't know how many. there were so many things to look at and so many things to find. i smell just slightly sweaty. the sun set and i was still miles from home; i don't know where i went or how i got back from parts of it. it felt so good. i do this when i know i am going to leave a place; i say goodbye by exploring.
it is so sad. the world is so beautiful and sad and delicate and a hundred other things and it is occasionally upsetting, unsettling, a hundred other things. it has always been this way. summer always sinks in and laughs at you, nudging you into nostalgia and pestering you to make new memories to feel nostalgic about. i want none of it. (i want all of it.)
i would like to start writing essays...and perhaps spoken word pieces.
the screams have come back.