I find that I always write things thousands of feet in the air. I don’t know why. I guess it is more serene here. Or that there are no other, outside, pesky things to distract me. But, yeah, airplanes at night make for good writings.
I may not have had the best trip to New York this weekend, but I definitely learned something: I need to be there. Need. And being there is not an impossible feat, I learned that too. In the course of four days, I heard so many stories from so many different people that “just needed a change” or “wanted something different” and had migrated to the City. From Sacramento. From North Carolina. Why should it be any more difficult for Florida? For me? It will not be. I mean, it will BE, but it will not be difficult. I sat on the red stairs and listened to a guy talk about how he loved living in the City and listening to people’s stories. I love stories. That place is made of stories.
You know, when I first visited to New York, I thought it was magical. I just didn’t know what to make of such an awesome place. And now, I don’t know that I believe it has the same magic, maybe it’s because I understand it better.. or maybe I don’t understand it at all. I do know that it is a fascinating, but it isn’t mythological. Or even mystical. Maybe it’s just that it’s become a real place, and not just a vacation hot spot. Maybe I respect it more than I did. Maybe I’ve lost respect for it. Maybe I just haven’t touched the places that make it so interesting in so long.
I said “maybe” too many times in that paragraph. Maybe I should stop?
I said “maybe” too many times in that paragraph. Maybe I should stop?
I need to change. I need to be more decisive. I need to be more confident. More sure. And I don’t think I can do that in Florida, Baker County, Macclenny, My parents‘ house. I can’t do it there. I need to go away and start doing for me. And learning my story. Because, how can I bring a story to New York if I haven’t penned one? Is that mythologizing? Yeah, probably.
God damn it, girl. Be decisive. Yes. That’s fucking mythologizing. But I don’t care.
I do need a story. But, I don’t need this story to be fragmented like all the actual stories that I’ve actually tried to write. Those are comprised of important bits, but nothing to join them. And they end up being just bits, and not a whole story. I have random, typical plans for my life, sure, but how do they fit into the thing as a whole? Where does getting a degree, getting married, going to Italy, starting a family, getting away from Florida, etc where do they fit on the trajectory.. on the life course? .. well, Michael Hallett would be proud of that. Or maybe fragments are good, like a mosaic or a scraphgan (scrap+afghan... I made a word). ...I’m going to start with the fucking “maybe”s again. God. Damn. Us. All. But look, I made a word.
What could I do if I didn’t have anyone telling me what I couldn’t do? Shouldn’t do? What they would rather me do? ... What could I do if I didn’t have anyone to answer to? It stops me here. I can’t even imagine that kind of freedom. I do imagine that I would learn a lot about who I am. And I’d probably dye part of my hair bright red. I think I’ve spent 22 years following someone else’s rules and I’m exhausted of it. Yeah, that sounds overly dramatic, I accept that. But, God! I want to be on my own.
Own. With James. I love him. I love him more than I ever imagined I could. He is insanely special and our relationship is insanely special. And he’s definitely given me so much and taught me so much that I can’t wait to learn more. And it truly excites me to move on (out) with him. He makes me feel safe and secure. And how can one person do that? Maybe, I’ll ask him. (Fuck these maybes...)
Wh
