1.
The crows speak. I turn my back on the town, the people, civilization and look at the stones crammed side by side in what would have been neat rows but 200 years has worn their order. In the winter trees, the crows speak words I almost understand. I want to unfold my wings and fly up among them but people are waiting for me and I'm cold and sore so I put away my wings and limp along the cobbled path to the town.
2.
My dreams are of betrayal. Not the cinematic overtures my subconscious usually performs, but less nuanced. More basic, standard tropes.
3.
I told someone once that home is wherever I'm not, and that is very true. I always look forward to going to my parents', and I like being there. It's a break, in a lot of ways, but I also look forward to going back to Canterbury. It's different lives. I don't know if I'll ever be able to stay put. I know I need stability - familiar people mostly - but six months and Canterbury is already beginning to chafe.
4.
I dreamt of New Orleans, except sometimes it looked like Paris. I was visiting, but decided to make it permanent.
5.
Do I send Caleb to Atlanta after Derek? It's not far. It makes sense for him to go. Though, could he afford it? Does he even have a car? Who would he go with? Would he tell anyone, or would he just go?
6.
I would like to get a job, for a lot of the same reasons I'd like to have a car. Feeling a little more independent, a little more in control of my situation, would help. I have a thing about control. And I feel so restricted now. Tied down. Confined. But I'm worried I won't be able to handle it. That it'll turn out to be too much and I'll end up right back in the hole I just climbed out of.
I have a tendency, I know, when I start feeling better, to jump in headfirst and sign on to all the things I've been wanting to do but couldn't, and inevitably it blows up in my face. Even a normal person can't do everything, and I function best at a more relaxed pace.
I don't want to make the mistakes I've made before. I want this time to work. I want to stay better. Maybe I should just give myself more time instead of running off at the first sign of light (literally and figuratively). Summer doesn't last forever. Especially in this country.
7.
I should call N. It's hanging there in the back of my head. Has been for weeks. Call N. But what would I say? From thousands of miles away I hear you, and this is the only way I know how to say, I'm here. I'm listening. I see you.
Be careful.
8.
Today I decided to quit smoking.
9.
The people of England need to learn to appreciate cinnamon in candy. Or at least gum.
10.
I miss the fire. The soft little cracklehiss as the paper burns down.
11.
Just before bed and just after breakfast are the hard parts because it's wired into my rituals and I don't deal well with change. I've considered giving in to myself just for those times, but my stubbornness balks at any leeway. I've made a decision so I should stick to it. Besides, give an inch...
12.
A long time ago something in me split in two, and it never quite readhered. So now it's me, and the Other. Sometimes it stays quiet, so I only feel it sitting just beneath my skin. Sometimes we talk, like friends who leave nowhere off limits. Sometimes it rages so wild and strong it takes all of my will and focus to just not let it out.
Sometimes I hate it. I want to be rid of it. Everything about it seems horrible and wrong. Other times I wrap around it like my only comfort, my oldest friend, my constant companion.
But it's always there in the back of my head. Waiting. Shifting. Watching everything I do.
The crows speak. I turn my back on the town, the people, civilization and look at the stones crammed side by side in what would have been neat rows but 200 years has worn their order. In the winter trees, the crows speak words I almost understand. I want to unfold my wings and fly up among them but people are waiting for me and I'm cold and sore so I put away my wings and limp along the cobbled path to the town.
2.
My dreams are of betrayal. Not the cinematic overtures my subconscious usually performs, but less nuanced. More basic, standard tropes.
3.
I told someone once that home is wherever I'm not, and that is very true. I always look forward to going to my parents', and I like being there. It's a break, in a lot of ways, but I also look forward to going back to Canterbury. It's different lives. I don't know if I'll ever be able to stay put. I know I need stability - familiar people mostly - but six months and Canterbury is already beginning to chafe.
4.
I dreamt of New Orleans, except sometimes it looked like Paris. I was visiting, but decided to make it permanent.
5.
Do I send Caleb to Atlanta after Derek? It's not far. It makes sense for him to go. Though, could he afford it? Does he even have a car? Who would he go with? Would he tell anyone, or would he just go?
6.
I would like to get a job, for a lot of the same reasons I'd like to have a car. Feeling a little more independent, a little more in control of my situation, would help. I have a thing about control. And I feel so restricted now. Tied down. Confined. But I'm worried I won't be able to handle it. That it'll turn out to be too much and I'll end up right back in the hole I just climbed out of.
I have a tendency, I know, when I start feeling better, to jump in headfirst and sign on to all the things I've been wanting to do but couldn't, and inevitably it blows up in my face. Even a normal person can't do everything, and I function best at a more relaxed pace.
I don't want to make the mistakes I've made before. I want this time to work. I want to stay better. Maybe I should just give myself more time instead of running off at the first sign of light (literally and figuratively). Summer doesn't last forever. Especially in this country.
7.
I should call N. It's hanging there in the back of my head. Has been for weeks. Call N. But what would I say? From thousands of miles away I hear you, and this is the only way I know how to say, I'm here. I'm listening. I see you.
Be careful.8.
Today I decided to quit smoking.
9.
The people of England need to learn to appreciate cinnamon in candy. Or at least gum.
10.
I miss the fire. The soft little cracklehiss as the paper burns down.
11.
Just before bed and just after breakfast are the hard parts because it's wired into my rituals and I don't deal well with change. I've considered giving in to myself just for those times, but my stubbornness balks at any leeway. I've made a decision so I should stick to it. Besides, give an inch...
12.
A long time ago something in me split in two, and it never quite readhered. So now it's me, and the Other. Sometimes it stays quiet, so I only feel it sitting just beneath my skin. Sometimes we talk, like friends who leave nowhere off limits. Sometimes it rages so wild and strong it takes all of my will and focus to just not let it out.
Sometimes I hate it. I want to be rid of it. Everything about it seems horrible and wrong. Other times I wrap around it like my only comfort, my oldest friend, my constant companion.
But it's always there in the back of my head. Waiting. Shifting. Watching everything I do.
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