Remember: Don’t talk to me about what you read on AdeleStreet.

For a while I’ve been writing superficial bullshit (mostly unposted) because I’ve felt too exposed. Not tonight thank god because I can tell by my wide 2am eyes I need to cough up something real to reach equilibrium. I need a vice. It has to be AdeleStreet because it’s too dark to paint and the tv’s numbing my brain, probably irreparably. I have a book I can read but it sucks- The Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime. It’s written from the perspective of a child with autism. I just don’t have the patience for it. It REALLY gets on my nerves.

I used to tutor a kid with autism in high school art class. One day he ran away from me, and all over the school for that matter with a thumb in his mouth and a hand down his pants. I think his name was Jared… and anyhow, if the book was more about stuff like that, I’d like it a lot better.

I go back to Lexington in one week. I think Nick is nervous, nervous that he has to be the boyfriend or that I’ll be staying over too much or that he’ll have to tote me around or deal with any of the details of my new Lexington life. He doesn’t need to worry of course. He’s picking me up from the airport but I’ll probably head to Frankfort the very next day to get my art sorted. His concern or else the concern I’ve projected onto him makes me feel a little guilty, and I haven’t done anything. Surely it’s just the distance. Of course it is.

I’m listening to the Junior Boys right now and they always remind me of the day Griffin burned their cd to send to DJ Swa when she first moved to San Fransisco. I didn’t know anything then but it makes sense that they’re getting married. He really seemed happy that day. I’m listening to the song, Like a Child and yeah, ha! That just wasn’t my place. This is or else wherever I float off to next. I wonder if I’ll actually be able to anchor the way I planned or if Lexington is yet another stop.

I used to paint myself as a muse or in costume. Now I’m just me, very tangible and steadfast but my feet move so quickly. I love to run, even when my body’s tired. I run out to a sign that says Seas of Change before I turn around and by the time I get back, I’m sad the run is over and I contemplate doing it again but I never do. I love to run and I love to be dropped off at the airport. And I love to drink $10 glasses of Sam Adams while I wait for my plane.

I’m going to be in Lexington until January at least and I’ll stay past then if I can find a job but I don’t think I’ll find one that’s right for me. I’m paranoid and I’m already making plans of how to get back on my feet after I meet my demise. I’m excited but also, I’m scared to come home.

I need to just stick it out, to be strong but when you stay in one place for too long, people think they know you and you become your job or your family. I can’t hide in a place where the scenery never changes. I don’t mind the short romances of a nomadic lifestyle. They don’t make me cry or smoke too many squares. I don’t mind not seeing my family. We get along so much better when I’m not around. But yes, is it really living if you don’t hit the ups and downs? Is seeing everything really living it? No, it’s not. I know this. It’s just so damn scary to stay.


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