something clever

Sipping wine in the loft of the studio where we'd have sex later, I said something clever. Not clever in the snappy sense, but clever in the whispering to myself "Julia, do you actually have that much self-awareness?" way.

I said that I had trouble realizing that I was sad in the moment, so most of my life feels like it's the best it's ever been. There are exceptions, but they are so bad that I fade them out so that I barely remember them. Sophomore year, for instance, I was being steadily beaten to a pulp, and I can only see that now. Junior year, apart from the week of frozen tears and madness, I only processed when I wrote my letter to the department. The week of tears is a foggy blur.

writing cycles

Not a lot to say today. I'm stressed and lonely, so I'm going to go to sleep soon and see what the morning brings.

I'm in a stage of my writing cycle where my own words feel foreign and I wonder where they come from. Even before I start reading I worry that I won't remember the person who wrote any of it.

Nerves. Also, my body is rejecting something. My digestive system has been grumpy for a month now--ever since I came back to school. I thought it was the scrounge but I've been scrounging less and still my belly is unhappy. What will it take? For one, I want to start exercising *at all.*

Also, I wish there was someone who would call a therapist and set up an appointment for you and maybe take you there oh wait that's a parent Julia you're all grown up now get your shit together.

Four Now

Hi,

It's all pretty simple. I arrive on time, like a syncopated boot hitting against the forest floor, walking up hill sometimes, skipping down, a pattern surely hidden under gasps and stumbles. I arrive on time. If I'm not going to make it walking, I ride my bike. If I wake up and my eyes are blearing I rub them and run water over them until they are caught up with my schedule. I arrive on time. Usually.

I had sex with new people this week. I think that age is contagious. I didn't feel young with them, I don't feel old with my classmates, is this heaven? Am I at that perfect graceful age when I can be anyone? I am someone, and that's the trick. Young enough that to be someone is easy, old enough that that someone could be me. It sounds simple when I type it but when I open my mouth the chaos in my head threatens to drain out over my tongue, the sudden change of pressure pulling at the threads.

So, what I mean to say is that somehow it works but I hardly believe it. He invited me back for more, but I'm not sure if I should. The age difference is so huge, and I don't think my daddy issues fit this mold. It's easy to fuck him but hard to kiss him. I've seen a picture of him when he was 24 and he looks younger than me, I think. Who knows, I've never known what my face looks like. I told you, I think, that I always knew a face a few years older than the one that actually existed around my eyes. My special brand of dysmorphia.

I smell roses.

Dear dear dear myself how and who will take care of you.
I do not believe that people can help me consciously, unless they are trained and paid to do so, so I will find a therapist soon. Then again, I say that all of the time.

Mess mess mess people in the kitchen are speaking tangent to my ears. I am speaking tangent to the truth.

Oh I read the most beautiful play. Antigone, par Jean Anouilh. Oh my god. "Antigone is calmed now, from what fever we will never know." I would translate that play. That would be a nice exercise. I think I'll write my midterm paper about it. I made the mistake of reading it in the morning, and by 11 am I was balling on the couch and it was far too early to be crying so hard.

Love,
Me

oops

broke up with my girlfriend, got a new twitter, stayed up all night, wrote an embarrassingly preachy response for my french class, I am presenting my summer research to the department tomorrow

everything will be okay and maybe someday I will know what matters

It's the only thing that seems positive right now

Even though I know it wasn't-isn't all

good, I felt something there that is being

beaten out of me here.

Dog Mountain

Tried to decompress from burning man by climbing a mountain. It was a good start. 

Burned-out Blues

I'm sitting in a cup chair, cinnamon cider seeping out of my bloodstream, Silvio Rodriguez singing sweet and bitter notes from my laptop speakers, and whispers of Burning Man hiss across my feelings.

So many feelings. Old, fermented, Calvados feelings from last year that came running when they heard their names called in the subtext of the lecture hall. New, raw, fruit smoothie feelings that are chunky in my throat, catching as I try to process them. I'm reeling from experiences as subtle as a moment of eye contact or as overwhelming as a K-hole while the man burned. I can't dissect their importance because they're in a ball of Burning Man that bursts my heart. It's mostly wonder, but some of it isn't happy and some of it hurts. The hurt isn't good or bad, it's just pain, and most of it is recycled. The joy of connection, the guilt of unwanted intimacy, the confusion of lies.

I feel alone. It feels empty and full. Colors dance in my memory with the smell of nothing. My eyes feel heavy but resist the fall. Dull pressure across my mind.

Decompression. The word beats with my heart. A mystery cure that I imagine everyone else has tasted, but I am ineligible, as I arrived home on the day that school started.

I will take care of myself somehow.

Burning Man

My social media spheres are littered with contempt for Burning Man. Hell, I even contributed. A company that sells chakra themed sun glasses had a Burning Man specific ad, which I screenshotted and shared.

It's easy to see the things that are dumb about Burning Man. And honestly, I'm surprised that people who complain are surprised when Burners tell them that they "don't get it." That's why they find it so ridiculous: they can't make sense of it.

I think that's where the magic comes from. You let go of what makes sense. Pages of packing instructions, scary stories of hour long windstorms, the long drive with the car riding low... for what? You don't know yet.

^I wrote the above before leaving for Burning Man.

I'm not really ready to talk about it yet. I need to really decompress, and I've been getting back into school so it's impossible right now. This weekend, hopefully, a few hour or two to think about it. Plenty of people take a week, but I am notoriously efficient and I have a life to live.

Nothing is simple but I'll be honest, most things are beautiful in one way or another, and that is the optimism that I will admit to.