Rehab

I’ve been reading a lot of Etgar Keret, staring at a lot of Perry Bible Fellowship. I need this bit of morbid inspiration to help propel me into the next phase of my life, phase dominate via chill pill. I’m walking a cable bridge, over a body of water more substantial than Biscuit Creek. Floating to my right is 30-year-old hipster, to my left is floundering domestic. Behind me is an unidentifiable tuft of sweetness, ahead is a “found” self that reeks of sage and nag-champa. What can I do but let go and crash into the water? Hopefully I become a mermaid before I’m caught in the screw of the failboat. And that’s always the hope isn’t it? To effortlessly transcend the archetype- to finally “be ourselves” and realize that that was what’s missing from this world, our pure and innocent selves. I want to see that my snowflake shape magically makes the jigsaw puzzle work, that I was what’s missing.

This week David gave up drinking, then talking because he needs something he can control. I’m jealous that he can define his shape so well, the shape of crazy.

I honestly feel like I’ve been in rehab for a year. I’ve named my problem and made moves to fix it in a controlled environment but because of this, I don’t know how I’ll handle the shock of the real world in 3 weeks. I’ll be home in 3 weeks. I know how quickly Frost Valley can turn into just a dream, how not hiking every day will make me skinny again, how competitive I can be when it comes to making art around other artists and when I fail I hide, and when I fail at love I hide. I have to stay strong and calm and take my proverbial chill pill on the daily and remember this day when I love myself very much. I need to remember how strong and able I am at this very moment. My love lives in my feet and in my belly, not in the air and not in someone else’s arms. MY LOVE is vibrant and smooth and pulses like the sun all through me.

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