Feel strange again. Spent all day laying in bed, thinking about the work I oughta be doing. Lately, any kind of stimulus makes me dizzy. I don't like being in public, it's overwhelming. When I'm laying in bed I hear people laughing in the hallway, in the rooms beside me, on the street outside of my window. It makes me irrationally angry ... and the anger sours into resentment, into grief. Because the bed I'm laying in isn't mine. And the friends I've made don't really know me. I laugh at their jokes and commiserate when they complain, but in spite of myself, I'm constantly searching for the shadows of my old friends in the gaps between their words. Wish people here were blunter, must be a Southern thing - directness. Kinda odd to admit it but I almost miss the South. Been daydreaming about Savannah, about Memphis. Tiny-ass towns in Oklahoma, too. Anadarko. The plains that go on forever and finally slope off somewhere beyond the horizon. The gas-station with its tin wrapped chicken sandwiches and shitty coffee. I always drove to blow off steam, no destination, no objective. Just countryside and speed-traps so I always coasted, never too fast - windows down, zeppelin on, or some zeppelin wannabe, used to worship 'goin' to california' like a hymn. it turns my stomach now. I pulled myself out of bed earlier, took the bus to the grocery store. Bought some breakfast cereal and pain-reliever. My doctor told me I was poisoning my body, that I'd die young. Seems a hellofa better deal than dying old if you ask me. Felt nominally better staring out the window of a moving vehicle. Oregon is picturesque. Post card perfect. The setting sun caught the skyline just right, sinking into the mountains, but I was the only one taking pictures. Bet I looked like a fuckin tourist. All day my eyes have been raw, that weightless whole-body feeling when you've just finished crying. I guess you could call it homesickness. Well they might as well be dead, my old friends. My parents. My sisters. My grandparents. My brain can't distinguish between permanent loss and temporary geographical seperation, which, really, isn't a whole lot different in practice. Spending more money than I have to spend. Staying up past midnight. Spitting my bitter nonsense out like old chewing tobacco where no one'll read it because confessing feels productive at least. Staying in. Sleeping all day. Eating entire bags of breakfast cereal in one sitting. Neglecting homework. Bandaging my nails. Bleeding through my shirt sleeves and realizing with a numb and dawning terror that no one is coming to save me. And, what if this ends right now? Neurotic fuck-up flunk-out dumbass stumbling back home to Oklahoma with his tail between his legs, stagnating while the world grows up around him. My parents were nearly my age when they married, Jesus Christ, they were kids! I can't stand the idea of sex, offering my body up to someone else, so I scrub one filthy hand and kick myself for ever wanting more. And, I keep having dreams so vivid I wake up exhausted. Wake up hazy, spacey, convinced I'm still asleep. Dreams about armageddon where the atom bomb falls. When I open my eyes, I'm covering my nose and mouth with my hands like it'll ward off the radiation. When I open my eyes I am suffocating. And home is a crumbling memory that lives somewhere between the crown of my skull and the nape of my neck. And I keep picturing myself sinking, gently, into the forest floor, sinking gently. dissolving into soft grass and wildflowers. Evergreen and sappy pine. What's it called when you get everything you asked for and it still isn't enough?
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blakekathryn
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