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Fuck it, I’m gonna go to Australia

January 22, 2011

I’m seeing the future spread out before me in fits and starts. I’ve been sleeping a lot. I’ve been sleeping too much. Sometimes my head hurts. Sometimes I’m dizzy for no reason. Sometimes I think everything’s ending. I’m learning to live within my means. I’m learning to live without reasons. I thought I’d relearned to sleep last night, but my body lied to me (it likes to do that). I am trying to be the sort of person you could like. My sister told me today that I’ll always be myself, no matter where I go. But I think (I think I think I think, all I ever do is think) that’s a little less than true. You take something with you when you go, but you must leave something behind, otherwise why leave?

I keep asking (telling/pleading/demanding) if people will come visit me when I’m far away. I plan to be far away. New York’s sinking into the harbor and I don’t know how to swim but I need to pull away before it sucks me down with it.

I’m writing in my grown up writer’s notebook. The one that tells you I’m serious, I’m for real. The notebook that implies I’ve got words tattooed on the inside of my lids, that I listen to bands with hard to pronounce unknown names. The one that says “I deserve more, so I spent more”, because money is the only mark of a man now.

Pink gloss. Pink nails. Bringing light to these dark days.

I can stare at a sink full of dishes, at an unmade bed, at my unwashed hair. I can listen to my growling stomach and watch the lines under my eyes get deeper and darker. I can collapse in the face of someone offering a hand in friendship because I am overwhelmed, I am exhausted. I don’t have it in me to be anyone’s friend right now. I’m paralyzed by fear, fear of failure, fear of vulnerability. My knuckles are turning white with the strain of holding onto it all. I’m telling myself that I’m worthwhile, my work is worthwhile, what I want is worthwhile…but I’m unable to convince myself.

Do you think I’m worthwhile? Have I convinced you?

“Can I see you?”, you ask me. My instinct is to reply, “you just did”. Because I’m tired. I’m hiding. I’m pulling the wool over my eyes and staying in, out of the cold. I don’t have what it takes to be anyone’s friend right now. I’m putting people on to-do lists, checking them off like errands, squeezing them in between the laundry and grocery shopping. I don’t want to be bothered, don’t want to invest too much of myself when it will only end  the same way.

I tell myself and others that I write like this because I think too quickly.

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One Comment leave one →
  1. January 24, 2011 12:07 pm

    this is beautifully written and honest…which is why I think it’s beautiful.

    I know what it’s like to not want to be bothered; to squeeze ppl in and check ’em off. I’ve been there–long ago. (and it must’ve been around the winter season. winter fucks me up. it fucks a lot of us up)

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