My desk faces a new window. There are boxes everywhere that are full of things I have forgotten I posses. There are new clothes with tags on them. Hampers full of blankets and sweaters. Books everywhere. Designs for a shelf on my bare desk. I cannot see the floor. There are too many things here. I thought about starting. Again. I thought about making this room my own. I picked up a vase from Tunisia that Kayla had bought me in Africa and placed it on my desk. I began to crumble and realized it was too early to unpack boxes. I opened my type writer. The only thing I am capable of doing at this hour.
Today I was in a grocery store and I wandered aimlessly. I was there to purchase flowers and ribbon. It took me nearly thirty minutes to do so. The red on the tomatoes never made me so nervous before. In one particular aisle, I found the neatly stacked cans of soup very teasing. I thought of Andy Warhol and my anxiousness only worsened. Warhol is lame in my opinion. No offence intended. My heart was beating at an exceptional rate. I wandered with a lump in my throat, past the bakery and the orchids. It would not subside despite the freshness my senses pursued. I never found a market so undesirable nor frightening. The lighting bothered me, too. I wanted to leave as fast as I could. When I reached the cashier, she did not understand this. How could she? Nonetheless, she had one item to scan before mine. The old man was purchasing flowers for his wife. “She’ll like these”. His words were languid and I wanted to find and swipe his credit card for him. One item and six minutes later I was asked if I found everything alright. Sure.
My heart continued to accelerate and I did not pay heed to the speed bumps in the parking lot on way to my exodus. I remember noting that I needed to cut my nails. They were driving me crazy. I needed to pick him up. I needed to leave the city by 5:00pm. I needed to say goodbye. Aside from my heart rate and nervous fingers drumming on the steering wheel, I was able keep my eyes dry. Until he drove my car and we stopped at a red light. I looked at his hands on the steering wheel and they were strong. His eyes were directed ahead of him and he was concerned. Not about my departure but about his grades. He was still my handsome graduate regardless of pass or fail. I told him I didn’t know what I was going to do. And I don’t. I don’t know what I’m going to do without him or how I will spend my summer, or what school I will be attending in the fall. I know absolutely nothing. And for the first time in a long time I am completely paralyzed by no absolution. I haven’t felt this paralyzed since Junior High. Years ago. And I don’t know how I dealt with it. Eventually, I made the decision to be happy. I suppose this is one of those “create happiness” type-situations. It feels very far away, though. Tonight feels like the first of my one hundred days without him about a year ago. There’s no rain to keep me company nor friend nearby that I can call or write to. Some things we have to deal with alone, I suppose. This is much more difficult than I had thought it would be. Moving back home, that is. There are many things unfamiliar to me, here. I am insulated in silence and surrounded by bare red walls. I know, at this very moment, that I do not have the energy or motivation or ambition (or whatever) to begin what really is a “new life”. There is the great public assumption that I am returning to an “old life” or my previous ways of living. I couldn’t even if I tried. Too much time has elapsed, thankfully. I quite enjoy who I spend my time with now. It is the now.
I’ve thought of things that I can do to pass the time, here. I’ve thought about raising a puppy, building a book shelf, and running a marathon. Any one of the three would be a distracting option or “helpful”.
There’s no true climax to this particular entry, by the way. This is just a documentation of this very night, I guess. An illustration of my attitude. Something I could change (positively) given time. I reckon I can if I’m thinking about it.
The start of the next two years. Twenty-four months. My folks tell me, between simultaneous conversations, that I will make more friends and find my true ones. They tell me that they saw one another once a week when my mom was in university. I suppose this is supposed to make me feel better. I just want to be victim of a killer smile. Feel like everything is going to be alright.
The beginning of the rest of my life. I truly wonder. Days can be so mundane. One can be so radically different from the previous. It is simply unreal. I wonder how much of our happiness has to do with our willingness to adapt.
I’d like to see my friends tomorrow. Any one of them. And I’d like to talk to Cullen soon. And have hot chocolate with James. I want to go out for noodles with Kayla and watch movies all day with Bailey. I want Noah to help me pick out an Indian rug for my bedroom. And I’d like to pick out my outfit for when I pick “him” up at the Greyhound station. And I’d like to make a reservation at that posh pizza place in Kensington for Saturday night.
My boyfriend (“him”) and I tell one another that the best thing about the future is that it comes one day at a time. It’s an optimistic thing to say, really. And I think we have to be, though tonight it’s too hard to try to be.
Thinking about the ocean waves of the Pacific sometimes helps to calm me.
It is inevitable that tonight I require the pulse of those waves.
When this is over, we can walk on water.
I might as well hang my pretty dresses.
Lets go buy some rugs, babe.