i was never convinced when i told you where i lived

I have never really experienced the type of headache one receives as a result of sobbing for, literally, an entire day. Until today. The moment I walked into my future apartment, that sunken chest short-breath feeling arose from my inner gallows. The first round of crying was dedicated to running. Running away from problems, running to them, wanting to actually go for a run... Future roommate James and I went for a walk. I talked about my aches for NY, how I didn't want to quit trying but how tired I was of making my life really hard. Because that's really what I've been doing to myself- making my life as difficult as possible. Constantly testing what I'm capable of.

I walked down to the canals and called my mom for a chat. I haven't felt so honest and relieved in a really really long time. What I enjoy most about life is sharing it with other people. When I sit on the water's edge and smell the salt of the sea on a cool November night, I want to you know those pleasures too. Here, I've no one really truly special to experience these things with. I want my mother to know what this is like. Living in LA, albeit lovely, has felt mostly like living alone in a castle. I want you to see this too.

I thought about the holidays. Thanksgiving, my birthday, Christmas, Mommy's bday / New Years... I cried about the idea of being alone for them. I am not that person. I am not going any further by myself. When I called my sister, I told her that I needed to come home. I can go no longer without a hand to hold on this journey. I like to imagine this as the part of the circus act where the trapeze artist tumbles on to her faithful net. Though it saddens me to fall, it's pretty amazing to have a family to catch me. I guess they did promise me that when I left.

After college, I skipped the part where I was miserable, living at home, saving up money for a place. I decided I couldn't go back there, I couldn't separate from my friends, who had really become my family. I didn't want to stop partying. I didn't want supervision. I certainly did not want help. Today felt like what I imagine Born Again Christians feel when they rediscover God and ask to be welcomed back into His... arms? Except it wasn't God, it was my mom, my sisters, friends, and NY.

LA, I'm done here (just in time for winter, ugh). No regrets.

P.S. While talking to my mom I said, "excuse my French" before saying, "my life out here is complete shit."

Rule #1

Chances are, if and when I decide to leave my toothbrush at your house, our "relationship" is about to end.

Maybe it's because I've begun to spend enough time with you / sleep at your house enough to say, "fuck it, I'm just going to pop this in the medicine cabinet... for tomorrow." Or maybe it's because when you see it, you're so freaked out by my (sometimes rapidly) increased comfort level you decide to stop answering my texts and calls. Or maybe I'm just making all of this up. Either way it happens, and it's happening. This occurrence has left me singing The Mighty Mighty Bosstones' "Where Did You Go?" for the last two days. Great.

I'm moving to Atwater Village soon, which is this quaint little neighborhood near Los Feliz and Glendale. It's half a block away from where I work, which will cut traveling expenses and increase sleeping time. It's going to be really nice to have my own space again, as I've been sharing since the glory days of Alumni Village. I can't wait to come home, close my door and play my music.

People have told me that it takes about 6 months to become acclimated to living in Los Angeles. It took one month for the excitement to wear off; two more months for the homesickness to bottom out; one month of counting down to a trip home and one week in NY to make me realize that memories are fantasies. I move into my new place, officially, on my six month anniversary- which, coincidentally, is my birthday.

IV.

As of this upcoming Sunday, I can say that I've lived in Los Angeles for four months. Roughly 120 days have passed since I've seen most of my closest friends and my family. I'll be home in 4 days, riding the subway (and my bike!!) again, and though I'm pumped about it- I'm really happy that it's just a vacation.

You see, turns out that blind date I went on has got this little ball in my head rolling. It was pleasurable night out, but don't get me wrong, Prince Charming is not the reason I already can't get back to LA... Actually, I finally feel motivated. Moments ago, I went over the reasons why any budding relationship wouldn't work out. To be honest, my life is really unimpressive. I live with my best-friend's parents, for free. You know what else starts with free? Freeloader. Frankly, all I have under my belt is that I moved across the country on a whim. Big whoop. If you had no sense, you'd do it too.

But it just happened. I just had the big daydream: I have to get my own place. I need to pay rent again. I need to go grocery shopping (with my own money) again. A queen size bed. Beer in my fridge. Walls to fill with art. A cluttered sink, all of my own. I've never been good at needing anybody else. Dependence is depressing.

NY see you soon, but after that, this vacation is over. Los Angeles, I think I live here now. Just the thought put me in a good mood.

xx.

hair in my soup.

this is the view from my room windows. click on it and it will get bigger.




In addition to working diligently on this new pretty layout, I also went through way too many of my old live journal entries, which for your comical pleasures, are here and here. Serving up the results of low-self esteem and the woes on college on a savory platter of girly.

This dig into the depths of LJ also reminded me that I used to work at Hot Topic. and that I had a monroe. and that I used to go to underwear parties.

I'll leave you all with an excerpt from 11.15.2004. I was listening to Matchbox 20 "Unwell" at the time.

over partied and passing out.
i move to undress and as i inch
down my jeans my tender muscles
remind me of last night.
the scent of cigarettes stains
my clothing and i think of
my slow daily suicide.
i turn to look at my spine,
my finger tips surprise my skin
as the mirror exposes my
ruby red waistline.
someone had a strong hold on me
during a slow dance.
but i don't know his name
and he probably didn't bother
learning mine.
the shadows in the room fade
another sad song on a slow
saturday night and i am left
singled out on a crowded dance floor
alone in a crowded room..


i think i have a drinking problem.