Feeling extremely uncomfortable in my own bed right now. Like my body won’t quite fit or sink in to the mattress. My skin itches. I need a cool breeze and a fresh, lively body of water.
I’m afraid of who I’ll be tomorrow; tired of guessing who will show up.
I gotta get outta this place.
Writing more lately. Not just articles. Pleased.
Finished my first free-lance article. Crossing fingers for a swift publication.
waiting.
Driving down route 80 was overcome by the unbearable urge to just keep going…
ever since I got back from Europe I haven’t been able to find my bearings. I feel misplaced and
uneasy.
…over there I was lost, but back here—“home”—, nothing seems familiar.
I either need to revamp this blog entirely, or It’s just got to go. It’s been stagnating for a solid year now.
Part of me just wants to take it out back and shoot it. Put it out of its misery…that would be too easy though. I’ve never been about easy.
What’s home?
Lost. Scatterbrained.
it’s strange, moving around so much every day, but never actually getting anywhere. the average human being takes upwards of 6,000 steps per day—but no matter how many steps I take, I invariably end up standing in front of the same toothpaste-specked mirror every night, my eyes a little more swollen each time I look.
it takes a little over a week for the air in the US to reach the shores of Europe. no matter where I go I’ll still be breathing in the same air—air I’ve breathed in and out hundreds of thousands of times over. even though air goes through changes on its cyclical journey—constantly developing and dissipating etc.—I wonder if I’ll ever be able to get far enough away; I wonder if my journey will always be as cyclical as the air that filters in and out through my mouth and nose.
The truth is you’ve already heard this. That this is what it’s like. That it’s what makes room for the universe inside you, all the endless inbent fractals of connections and symphonies of different voices, the infinities you can never show another soul. And you think it makes you a fraud, the tiny fraction that anyone else ever sees? Of course you’re a fraud, of course what people see is never you. And of course you know this, and of course you try to manage what part they see if you know it’s only a part. Who wouldn’t? It’s called free will, Sherlock. But at the same time it’s why it feels so good to break down and cry in front of others, or to laugh, or speak in tongues, or chant in Bengali—it’s not English anymore, it’s not getting squeezed through any hole.
So cry all you want, I won’t tell anybody.
But it wouldn’t have made you a fraud to change your mind. It would be sad to do it because you think you somehow have to.
-David Foster Wallace, Good Old Neon
Wow thank you. there are tons of different ways to write freelance. I’m writing articles for a website. But I also applied to a couple papers and magazines I haven’t heard back from yet. I’m just trying to kick my ass into writing more often—and why not make some money while I’m at it
…so, I’m a freelance writer now…
Easy is for the birds.
What kind of bird are you?
Interview at a Publishing Company in NY tomorrow. Neat.
Jet lagged and stricken with an awful Parisian cold/flu yet I’ve been more productive today than I ever have in my life. Sent my resume out to countless individuals; looked more closely at potential MFA programs; emailed professors to keep them in the loop about grad school.
Fuckin’ killin’ it today.
Feeling refreshed in so many ways.
Getting my shit together.
when life is quite through with
and leaves say alas,
much is to do
for the swallow,that closes
a flight in the blue;when love’s had his tears out,
perhaps shall pass
a million years
(while a bee dozes
on the poppies, the dears;when all’s done and said,and
under the grass
lies her head
by oaks and roses
deliberated.)
Sorry I’m not sorry tumblr followers.
Three of my meals yesterday consisted of nutella. I only had three meals yesterday
Headaches and bad dreams in Paris.
Strange to think two weeks ago I was counting down to my arrival here.
Strange to think I haven’t seen your face in almost as much time.
When the waves crash here
does the wind blow there?
The cause and effect I feel
would make it seem so,
but the natural world cares
so little for our plight.
When my heart hurts here,
do you toss and turn there?
It’s hard to imagine you
in the dark
when the sun shines so bright here.
The water, blue like a dream,
slaps against beautiful jagged rocks,
yet even as I plunge into the azure below,
my heart is knocking at my chest,
trying to catch the next flight back to Newark
Beautiful Newark:
where the sun currently shines
on an empty beer bottle
rolling in the breeze
down Macarter Highway,
trying to find its way
to the swallows on your feet
I know that I say this a lot, and I know that this could technically be seen as a preemptive excuse, but as soon as I get home I’m going to focus on writing again. No more excuses. I want to start writing everyday. If it’s truly my passion as much as I say it is I shouldn’t have to fight with myself to do it.
Two days after tn.
Driving past hotels in the night
Your words don’t sit well
How can I feel free
When all I want to be
Is by your side in that municipality
I wish to do everything on Earth with you.
…seeing even just a part of the world without you has convinced me of that.
The Anne Frank House has free WiFi. Why did she even keep a diary? Didn’t she know about tumblr?…
We are gonna dance into the sea
All I want is you, you’re ma chérie
Even no dreams are sweet, because of you. Dreamt a lot last night. You were there. Your hair blew in the wind and your brown eyes—sweet like honey—stared at me wildly. Not sure which was more wild: the wind in your hair, or the fire in your eyes
It’s 1 am here. My eyes are heavy but the pressure in my chest is making it difficult to sleep. My heart is still back there.
…It didn’t quite make the flight.
I suddenly realize how far away I am
French melons. Big ripe French melons. Massive ones
3000 miles is too far to do anything but over think things. At least the air here makes it easier to breathe
