Coffee stains dot my things. I am incapable of keeping the liquid from spilling out of the tiny hole on the top of the to-go cups they give me. Pages of my journal stick together from the top, my white MacBook keyboard is only clean because I am obsessively wiping it off. This is only one of the examples that weave through my everyday screaming – GET IT TOGETHER.
Got it.
Why is that flying to Los Angeles seems like such a….light at the end of the tunnel experience? Like LA will offer something more than sunshine and overpriced drinks. Maybe it will. It probably won’t. But right now my skin is pale from being layered with sweaters and jackets for months. And my head feels like it's filled with cold air that permeates into everything I'm thinking, freezing it all into one place. I’m looking for a thaw. To free my thoughts, melt my memories that right now are running on a tormenting loop. I don’t want to remember everything right now. I want movement. Space to move. A thawing out.
A part of me hates Vermont. It represents my settling. I don’t fit in with the super-outdoor enthusiasts, or the soy milk chugging neo-hippies. I don’t even fit in with the stoners or the laced straight bookworms. Not that everyone fits neatly in categories. It's just that the hipsters in Vermont make me want to scream because they’re in VERMONT. If you want to be a hipster move to Brooklyn and do it up right. Vermont represents a shift in myself that happened when I was 18. When I decided to stick it out, around here. I left New York, I gave up on London. I settled in Burlington. Not that I want to harp on that now. Because. Really, what's the fucking use?
18 and 22. It seems like I’ve lived an age. My chest hurts when I think about it, so I won’t. I’m going to LA. To sit in sunshine, to look for a thaw.
1 comment:
Thank you
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