I’m going to be digitizing all my journals, but my writing has never been linear. I tend to pick things up and put them down, buy new journals, try mediums. Sometimes I go quiet for months, sometimes I come back mid-sentence. So I’m sorry if things here feel messy, unorganized, or out of order: it’s because they are. Life didn’t give me order; it gave me flashes. I write things as they come, the way I lived it. Too much, too fast, too messy. Feel free to keep a bookmark or write a comment if you find any connections or if things read better in a different order. I’ll be doing my best and will try to timestamp what I can, but mostly I’m leaving the fragments here as I find them.

I’m going to be digitizing all my journals, but my writing has never been linear. I tend to pick things up and put them down, buy new journals, try mediums. Sometimes I go quiet for months, sometimes I come back mid-sentence. So I’m sorry if things here feel messy, unorganized, or out of order: it’s because they are. Life didn’t give me order; it gave me flashes. I write things as they come, the way I lived it. Too much, too fast, too messy. Feel free to keep a bookmark or write a comment if you find any connections or if things read better in a different order. I’ll be doing my best and will try to timestamp what I can, but mostly I’m leaving the fragments here as I find them.

02-30-18

I’ve been between these walls before. Stark white, bumpy cement walls. Layers of chunky gray paint slathered on the floor. The only light in the windowless container was warm and dim. It came from an old vintage Tiffany lamp and another source, a colorfully lit organ that cuts the stale, quiet air with a consistent low hum. M and I have been dating for a year at this point, and we’ve slept in his unit plenty of times before, just next to mine. But this time I was alone, and it was permanent. I didn’t know where else to go. I wasn’t ready to make the move with my mom to live with her new man. I finally felt like I was settling in, and to move again… after just a few years ago we uprooted, leaving another life far behind. But this time, I had some sort of community, a boyfriend(?), I’m making art, playing music. I just wasn’t ready to give all of that up. I hope I don’t regret this. It’s just me. Well, my cat too. Living in a warehouse… studio… storage unit?

I used to glamourize the lifestyle that came with this little corner of the world. Late nights, people coming in and out, the unexpected, the people, cheap beer, drugs. It was everywhere, it was everything. It was, it is, something special to me. But I was always able to go home. I don’t know how to feel, but it’s done. I made a decision, and I guess this is what happens when we make decisions. We follow through. But, I miss my bedroom. I miss my mom. And Having a boyfriend doesn’t even mean anything to me; It’s not what kept me here. M doesn’t really feel like a boyfriend anyway. We don’t talk much. We hang out a lot, but when we do, it’s mostly me sitting and reading or writing. Sometimes I paint, or mess around with the guitar or bass, although drums are really my thing. And while I do that, M, he tinkers with some amp or instrument or spirals down an internet hole, researching something or other. I like to just watch him, though. There is some sort of comfort in just being next to each other. It’s not a type of liking I have for him, but maybe an understanding. I don’t have to say anything, or even be anything. I could very easily be nothing at all. A phantom in a room. Not looked at, not spoken to, just there. It sounds sad when I write it down on paper. But it feels safe. It feels like something that won't leave because there’s nothing bad that could really happen.

Today, I sat with him while he cleaned his warehouse. Six hours he cleaned, six. How does anyone even clean for that long? The room has two doors, it's about 20 feet long with a door on either side. But inside is a colorful musical wasteland. All black floors scuffed and sticky with glitter and tinfoil confetti. The walls, decorated with a mix of random paints and doodles, and sound foam. Stage lights hang above, in different colors, while some project smooth, moving designs. At one end is a slightly raised section of the floor that acts as a stage. A few days out of the week, a local band will practice. Sundays, a group finds local bands and films a live music video for them. Other days, it’s just random people coming and going. Usually the same faces, whoever is in the area, sometimes people visiting in town.

I don’t know how anyone could know so many people. I always just knew a few people, went to work, and went back home. I was a recluse in a way, never getting too close to anyone. Now it’s all I crave. Now it’s all I have. I gave up security to be close to people, to make connections, to experience something bigger than a small town, where everyone knows everyone. To expand and experience everything. I am a sponge, soaking it up. Taking it all in.