Get free.

Mack's 9th.

I'm a wizard!

Out of character.

I'm not sure if I'm playing the part right --
Not giving the role justice.
Too wishy washy.
Too brash.
I just wanted to kiss you.

Orlando

We dropped Jeff off.
Then went to the apartment.
Concrete and key pads.

A New Moth

Spoons.

I want to say, "Don't go."

I want to say, "Stay with me."

But I don't know where I'm going or how I'm getting there.

And I don't matter.

My opinions hold no sway.

I have no pull on this.

I only have memories of beds and couches and warmth.

I only have past lives.

I need to find someone else to push all of this love on since it's not working for you.

We lay like spoons,

in a rented room,

nappily ever after,

every afternoon.

A litany of prettiness and pettiness, too.

To me, you are the most amazing and interesting person I've ever met. Or you were? My marveling for and my pining of you have faded somewhat. I can still get that feeling when I reach back into my brain files and remember your eyes in lantern light and the way your hands feel. How our excitement was all the more exciting because we wouldn't let it touch.

Is it love that I can see and know your obvious flaws but still find you incredibly irresistible? Or is that stupidity? I mean, not a day has passed since our eyes first locked that I have not thought of you at least once. I try but trying not to think of something only brings it up faster.

What about this? I wanted to write a few lines about myself. I wanted to somehow define myself in the context of my day off spent consuming caffeine and reading with a little search and rescue but as soon as I start to write, I just think of you.

Oh, you, you, you.

With your big, beautiful eyes and unabashed enthusiasm. Your body that's too long for my bed. The grace with which you walk into rooms. The way you enjoy drugs and alcohol so much but I've never known you to be fucked up even as I'm stumbling into streets to vomit and then return to party some more. I feel lucky to have met you. You are the love of my life so far.

That's both exciting and horrible. If I never find someone better, well, I had an awesome time. If I do, HOLY SHIT, THERE IS SOMEONE BETTER. I'm no longer waiting for you and I feel like that's a step in the right direction. But even as I'm 'talking' to other people, here I am writing about you on my blog.

I guess I miss every single thing about you but I miss it more when you're right in front of me.

There isn't a word for what I'm going to be when I grow up.

I make a lot of plans and to-do lists and whathaveyous. I'm trying to do that now and realizing I don't really want to. I am reconciling, recoiling, remarkable.

We haven't talked about it but I'm pretty sure my mom took some time off to "find herself." When else could she find time to hitch-hike to Alaska? I'm hoping she remembers how good that time was for her and her mental health when I tell her this weekend that I'm dropping out of society as much as possible. I know my parents will always love me but I also want them to be proud of me. I'm sure they'd have a much harder time saying, "Oh, Susan? She's... quit school and is working full-time! Yeah, we're proud of our average girl!" I'm not any less valuable because I don't strive to be rich, famous, or ridiculously well-off, right? I hope not.

So, I have a plan? An idea? A goal? I know what I'm doing right now is not working. I know how to get out of it.

For now, working a lot more to get a place in Gainesville with John. More working and saving to move to Colorado (Colorado! Who would've thunk it?). Working and making connections in the Cannabis Business (Cannabusiness?) until I get restless enough to make new plans. Ultimately, I want to be in Washington, in a house, adopt two kids.

Scary is exciting but nice is different from good.

Maybe your write.

Strung out and stoned with some Stevens and writer's block.

I still shiver like I did when you flashed your wolf-smile at me (an expression I'd never expected on your face which made me both excited and scared). I blush to think of your teeth, now just sitting in your mouth innocently when not too long ago they pressed into my flesh as you rutted against me in the t.v.-blue light of a rented room.

But that no longer happens. It was strange even as it was happening. I don't know what to think now nor do I know what to expect.

So, I sit in a room filling myself with drugs and listening to music which has lost power with time and try to write about how being around you made me feel infinite one moment and like I was wasting time the next. I love you and there is no doubt about that but with the full moon coming I'm trying my damnedest to forget that long enough to swallow another love pill and make more room in my heart. Wish me luck.

Newly Red.

Lost.

We have no great battles.

Nouveau (oh!) Riche!

New favorite thing: laughing whilst orgasming. Lasts longer, feels better, and really happy afterwards.

Complementary

http://wildernessoverload.com/home.html

"when i think of what your mind does it would look like this"

O, futur!

Sometimes it feels like the present isn't happening except as the waiting room for the future. It's a pretty comfortable waiting room; there are magazines telling you about future things and all the time in the world to think. What do I want in the future? What does future-me want in the present? What is going to happen?

I always say that my ultimate goal is to own my own Cannabis Bakery but my real ultimate goal is the live off the grid with my partner, our two adopted children, cats, cows, chickens, and a big garden. By a river, perhaps? In a tree house. Not going to work a job but just working in the garden and teaching the children about the world. Having friends pop in at unexpected times. Creating art everyday. But I'm not doing anything today to work toward that. At best, the path of my life right now continues to living in a rented house with a boy, maybe a cat, working full-time, and creating only messes. I don't know how to change the path without also drastically changing my life. I like my life. It's been better but it's still fucking awesome. And getting better!

I just got too high to keep doing this. The air outside is tinged with autumn and I have to ride my bike or weed my garden but I cannot be here anymore.

Dog problems.

I feel like in the short time I've known you, I've been just watching you change but maybe it's just the better that I get to know you, the more of you I discover? Your scent stays the same and it drives me crazy. Earthy, deep, light, colorful, boy. I'll decide that all I want is your friendship and then I smell you and forget that. You're not what I had planned. You're not what I saw the first night but there's the small glimmer of what I know now was love-at-first-sight.

I don't regret any of it.

Flip-Flop.

The majority of the time I feel better when I'm home. Home in the sense of not school or work -- a friend's bed is as good as mine and a beach works, too. Lately though, when I am at home, I feel the crushing reality of life. When I'm at work or school, it doesn't seem to be happening. I'm just slicing bagels or making creme brulee, not working to pay the bills or studying to graduate.

Last week was one of the hardest weeks of my life and not for any goddamn good reason. My uncle died and I worked nearly 40 hours. I skipped school a lot. Then I took off in the middle of the night to Gainesville. Being back in Gainesville showed me so much:

I still love my life. I still think of Gainesville as home. I have so much love and gratitude for everyone in my life. I am not going to be swallowed by the darkness and heat of Orlando. I also remembered just how goddamn much better weed makes everyfuckingthing. I even discovered a name for my future cannabis bakery: TasteBUDs.

I also realized there are a lot of things I'm not letting go. It might be unhealthy but I'll carry them for a little longer. I realized things I don't want to happen to me. I don't want to be 24 and uncertain about my sexuality. I'm trying to figure that out a lot lately. As far as I can tell, I'm a lesbian in love with a boy who looks, talks, and acts like a girl. But I could be wrong. I've lost my warped desire to sleep with everyone I meet. I don't even know what I'm looking for anymore. I'm looking people in the eyes more. I haven't got it all right yet but I've got it alright.

Tomorrow I'll get the biggest pay check of my life and promptly send it to pay for my bedroom. It would be upsetting except that I'm doing it: I'm an adult. I pay my bills and work and go to school. In one week I'll be twenty-one and I actually feel productive about it.

On the other hand, there is nothing more appealing than my old life of sleeping when I want to, working occasionally, school when it was convenient, party, party, party, and spending too much time just being happy. I miss that girl so much but I'm not sure how to get back to that while still making my life here. Do I have to choose? Be happy or be successful? Do I need to change my idea of success?

Right now I need to sleep and then wake up and go to work and then to school and then I'll be at home again with my thoughts for three days until I can escape to Gainesville again.

Addiction and subtraction.

I was thinking about quitting something and it made me think of it as an addiction which lead to me thinking about all of my other addictions.

But my addictions are not something I feel bad about. I am more excited about them. They exist as excitements. I love them. I may be addicted to love.

An obvious one is smoking. I adore smoking. I'm not trying to recruit more smokers or anything but, for me, smoking is lovely. Even if I smoke too much one night, I'm only thinking about it the next morning -- when I light up another cigarette. I like having something to do at parties or at least an excuse to go outside. I like the people I meet whilst smoking. I like watching smoke come out of my mouth. I like the smell. I like trying different brands and flavors. I like sharing cigarettes. But one day I'll quit. It's not a big deal.

I don't think I'm addicted to sex but I am definitely excited about it. I like, obviously, doing it but I also like everything leading up to and afterwards and how each experience is different. Having dinner or going out and then coming home to have sex is pretty basic but helping a guy carry his drum set up 4 flights of stairs and then having sex is exciting. I like not knowing if someone will cuddle after. I dislike when they don't. I wonder about people snoring or talking in their sleep. I wonder how being next to someone will affect my sleep. I like thinking about what someone would like, what would excite them. I like experimenting with new bodies and seeing what I like best. I hope I am always so open for it.

My love.

My love is ten feet tall.

My love is static electricity.

My love is swimming in circles.

My love is comfortably worn.

My love is dewy and brightly clothed.

My love is dancing.

My love is closer than your skin.

My love is further than the moon.

My love is swayed by the tides.

My love is a familiar melody.

My love is stained with paints.

My love is waiting at a crosswalk.

My love is sitting at the edge of a lake.

My love is hopeful.

My love is a wildflower.

My love is the breakfast of champions.

My love is leaves.

My love is smiling at strangers.

My love is changing colors.

My love is molten.

My love is happy.

My love is free.

My love is open.

My love is here.

Memory

I have a memory of standing in a crowd, pressed up against a metal fence next to a girl who gave me cigarettes and whom I never saw again, chanting, "Hail Satan!" over and over.

I have a memory of sitting on a wooden boardwalk in the forest with a friend, seeing everything for the first time.

I have a memory of sitting in the exit row of a transatlantic flight when I was sick and crying as I looked alternately out my window and at photographs.

I have a memory of sneaking down into the basement of a church-turned-venue and ordering a beer and not getting carded and feeling like the cat who got the cream.

I have a memory of driving on unknown roads in a new state with my mother as the rain came down so hard and thick I couldn't see 5 feet in front of me.

I have a memory of standing in an old kitchen, watching a friend cook dinner for shabbos and feeling so much love for her as she sang to herself.

I have a memory of waking up three different friends just to tell them a boy I liked kissed me.

I have a memory of walking around the streets of Holland with a near-stranger and feeling at home.

I have a memory of listening in the hot, cramped back of an art gallery as Phil Elvrum sang to me everything I have ever felt.

I have a memory of taking a new friend to my roof where we exchanged ideas and wondered wonderful things.

Right now, I have no regrets. Everything happened for the best.

Passing time.

I keep telling myself that things will be better once it's fall again.

As if the weather cooling and the trees losing their leaves is a solution for angst and stupidity and feeling like I'm 15 and a boy has just broken up with me via AOL instant messenger. As if scarves and knitted stockings will suddenly make me have magic.

It's a nice thought.

I'll be better in September. Settled. Collected. I just have to wait it out. Wait out the heat of July and the mania of August. Windows and eyes and doors and hearts will open.

But isn't that the problem? My heart is so open that it hurts. I spend my days wasting time and my nights faking everything. Every song has new meaning in this light. And I'm not allowed to sing at school; how fucked up is that?

I alternately feel like my bed is too big and too small. I want you close but not that close. And all of this because I wished on the biggest dandelion I'd ever found. Where did those airy seeds land? What an awful wish. A wasted wish. I need to get wasted.

Pretty soon the sun will rise again and I'll get up, take a pill, start to clean the kitchen but get distracted. You'll be here but not here and I'll reach out and there will be nothing. Only for 15 more days.

I wish I were a cartographer.