the same thing said different thirteen times

I feel most real when i’m sitting among a few good people. Smooshed in the front of a big white truck with a diesel engine so loud you can hear it rumbling five hundred feet away. I love it so much when you can be comfortable together saying nothing.

I am happy I can feel this way again, but at the same time I feel that it’s just another part of my relapse, my lack of progression to a better state of mind.

thinking about how ten seconds of your life could last you ten years. for me those ten seconds are driving through the Arizona highways, asleep in the back of our rented car, my mother driving, father reading his science magazines up front in the passenger seat. Everything sand and dusty red so so bright, just trying to live. And doing it so.

this blog is an excuse for me to live the life I do. If I write about it, if I KNOW what I’m doing, then it’s okay to keep doing it, right?. I am comfortable with fucking up because I know I’ll always be okay with living alone on a farm somewhere surrounded by nothing but corn fields. I wonder if this is a sad thing. I fuck up to forget about him, and I just try to remind myself that he’s never going to hurt this way, so I just keep going.

thinking about a Cincinnati rooftop. I think about Charlie brown and blue rooms and security and knowing another person. letters pictures tears heartbreaks. My body’s composted them, turned them out into a wail back in Morgantown at a birthday party, against the wall outside at one o’clock in the morning and it’s freezing and I’m pounding the wall because I know I’ve lost the best. Those cincinnatti nights years ago. What I took for granted while I told myself it was really everything else I should be appreciating. I feel like something’s been pulled out of my skin. Like peter pan and his shadow.

Hello twenty. Hello knowing who you are, being comfortable with yourself because that is right and comes with age. But so much is still tattooed into me. sometimes I think I could feel it all again with everyone replaced and new. But I do not deserve it, and I still could never forget the first time.

Sometimes I look at maps and it frightens me to know that you can drop your finger on that map and go anywhere it may land. You can go anywhere, pick up and start walking, hope people are friendly on the way down to the pampas of argentina. but just because you can go anywhere, should you?
And then I start to think about how you’ll never see every place in the world, you’ll NEVER read every great book out there, you’ll never meet the people who might understand you best.
All this while there is never a guarantee for seeing tomorrow’s sunrise.

yesterday. “what does that mean?” that means my father played that song to me when I was a little girl, about to go to sleep to his guitar chords.

My god, it is all going away so much so fast, but yet it is still good along the way.