Ridgewood sublet

It feels like the past year has been waiting for life to get beautiful again and now it is. I still feel ungrounded a lot of the time but I think it will go away soon. My skin has shed. I’m crawling out of the folds slowly

slowly

The much older man that I had been seeing and I sat on the fire escape looking at each other. I said that my roomate and one of my closest friends are both in their thirties too. When I told one of them that I made a met a 38 year old he said “what are you doing with us?” When I repeated this to the man I was dating he asked “what are you doing with this?”

I’m sitting on the fire escape again and I just dropped my cigarette through the cracks

My desk is my salvation. I needed to suffer and to seek reprieve to find true inner salvation. All I do is run away. And get stuck. And fear being trapped, and run away again. Stillness is not a failure. Calamity is where you find strength, it is not in battle. I nuzzle my propped up knee in the same way my cats do. The last day of august is cold. Every day after this may be too. I hope it is.

For a long time since moving to New York I felt like I was away from my life. Like I was on an extended trip and I yearned to go back home. In the same way you feel around the end of a long vacation when you’re ready to sleep in your own bed. But this bed is my own and the only one who sleeps in it now is me.

I have such an attachment to my bedroom. I’ve been nesting. Or I needed to find something in my life that I could control and perfect it. You can always control aesthetics. I’ve learned that I’m a highly sensitive person and that includes the way things around me look and sound and smell and feel. In college I never stressed about my apartment and how to decorate it or how to exist properly in that space. Everything could just be natural. I need to embrace what is natural again.

I have a scented candle lit outdoors. All I can smell is the coming fall. I whine that this city is un-aromatic compared to Virginian trees and cobblestone streets. Maybe it’s just me. I’ve forced myself to grow up the wrong ways in a city meant to nurture creativity and inspiration and anti-aged selfhood.