✍ CURRENTLY WRITING FROM: SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA
Today I bought myself my own flowers while I was picking up apples at Henry's. I never realized how much I need to buy my own flowers on a frequent basis, but I'm glad I have. I like knowing they're sitting someplace in my room, the other living thing in this space, and we both take care of each other. These flowers and I.
I've been thinking a lot about places lately. I don't think we'll ever truly be fully content anywhere. We say we want the opposite of where we're at now, and then once we've escaped, we realize that we had what we sort of wanted all along and we regret leaving and we start lying on our floors face down more often than we used to and replaying For Emma, Forever Ago at an alarming frequency. I've been panicking about this all day. My entire life I've sat snug in my bubble of moving to New York and becoming a Times Best-Selling Author and developing my voice and in the process end up morphing into the character Andy Sachs from The Devil Wears Prada. I dreamt of sidewalks and exposed brick walls and tall buildings and liveliness. And now I'm realizing the ephemeralness of things and how I'm probably not going to find what I'm looking for if I move but at the same time feeling like if I don't, I'll regret it. In my mind, I'm looking at this situation as a thing I'm afraid of doing, but if I actually do it, it'll be a brave thing to do. Putting myself out there. I'm also thinking a lot about the whole "It's not the place you're at, but the people you're with" way of living, and I keep scrunching my body up and feeling like I need to sleep it off.
I bought myself flowers and they made me cry a little bit, but I couldn't bring myself to play For Emma, Forever Ago, because the thought of forcing myself to be sad to let it out faster made me sick.
