Got A Light?

I want to sit on the steps leading up to my apartment and have a smoke. This is very odd since I don't smoke. This is, excepting, of course, the pack I split with Austin Bauer in his parent's garage at age 12. I didn't inhale. At any rate, it's odd. It's the first day of Autumn and, even in San Diego, despite the sun, there's a faint chill in the air. The sky is clear. It feels a little like everything before today and everything tomorrow is collapsed into just today-- the first day of Autumn always feels this way-- and I'd like to sit out on the front steps and stare out into the street and think about that. I guess I'd like to have something to do with my hands while I do that. Something to fiddle with.

I can be a real asshole when I talk about smoking, but I suppose I do understand the appeal.

Phone in The Microwave

It's late and I can't sleep...

Actually, it's not that late, but that's hardly the point. Point is, it's been a while since I've stayed up at night against my will. Usually, I sleep the sleep of the dead, of the just, of the just dead? I don't know... Someone has started to creep back into my life again and I'm nervous about what that might imply. I don't even know if it's something I'm interested in allowing to happen. Maybe I shouldn't be. Maybe I should. I don't really care about that, but I promise you this: I will confront this situation head on and, while I'll protect myself, I won't lie to myself or you, or anyone, about anything. I won't allow myself to get into the murk again. I won't allow myself to be treated badly. My friend has already promised that she'll microwave my phone if I do, and we can't have that.

Small and windowless...

...and cold.

These are the properties of the office I'm currently sitting in. Also, dark. I can not tell if the headache and fatigue I'm experiencing are tied to the cold I'd been fighting off this weekend, or if they are a gift of this office. I felt fine this morning when I left home.

That's not entirely true. I felt tired then too. I slept in and took a later train to LA and I barely made that. The morning was grey and heavy-- typical San Diego-- and I slogged through it-- typical me. I'm huddled now in the corner of this space, my sweatshirt wrapped around me, tea at hand, wondering if I should go check into the hotel early. I'm seriously considering it.

I do need to get some sort of workout in today, so I'm going to try to make a yoga class at 5:45. Logistically, for reasons I am too tired to delve into at this moment, this will not be easy.

Maybe I'm so lackluster because of the recent need to sever the ties with yet another failed relationship. I hurt her, and for that I feel badly, very badly, but I also feel free. I don't think this is loneliness that I feel... it's too early for that. I have been a little put off, of late, by a friend up here who tends to overstep her bounds. I casual remark on her part about how "a road trip would be fun" has turned into a fully planned out trip to the hot baths as Esalen with a stay already reserved at the Madonna Inn. Why does this sounds more like a romantic get-away than a spontaneous road trip?

Why do I sound so god-damned whiny?

I should write more, I know....

I had one of those Sundays that are very much like... well... Sundays. I slept in. I cleaned a little. I skipped my workout. I called my mom a day late for her birthday. I went grocery shopping, and got a birthday present and went to a birthday BBQ for a couple hours, which was about as much social interaction as I can handle. Mostly, I just enjoyed being alone, not being responsible for anyone else's happiness. I watched movies in my apartment while I balanced my checking account spreadsheet. I walked to the corner cafe in the early afternoon and got a late bagel to go, and was pleased by the sound of the paper bag crinkling as I walked home.

It was one of those days that feels a little lonely around the edges, but in a distant ad not entirely unpleasant way, like the knowledge that much loved, but often annoying family members will be visiting, but that their trip is some time off.

I had a Sunday, I suppose. My Sunday, and that was that.

All Mine

I came home from LA, this time, to a house that was empty. The art was gone, save for the few pieces I own, the extra stuff from the kitchen. It was, at last, again, my space and my space only. To get it back, I had to give up someone to hold me when I was tired, someone who swam with me and who was brave when bravery was needed, so that I didn't always have to be. At that this someone, in the end, made me feel more lonely at times than walking into my empty home, and that giving up someone to hold you is a small price to pay for getting back the ability to be you, rather than someone's idea of you, are stories for another time.

For tonight, I walked through the door alone, into an empty apartment, and it was All Mine.