Really, really wanting certainty; never, ever getting it.



Here's a good one:

Really good things are just bad things waiting to happen.  (12/28/09)

Ahahaha, me.

Due to the vagaries (efficiencies) of human vision, it's often impossible to tell if a light is becoming brighter or if everything else is, in fact, getting darker.  (1/5/12)

Campgrounds are so weird. No one would do all this stuff out in the open in town, would they? And yet here we can all see each other eating and cooking and arguing. I don't really like it. There's a shocker. I wonder what places have real wilderness camping, and if I'm really prepared to do that. I could be. I'm smart and cautious. I'm brave and I like to be alone.  (8/15/13)


Got caught up in reading some old journals. It makes me sad, all the little things I don't remember. But then again, I'm grateful for the passage of time.

I haven't taken any photos at all since I got home. This time is lost; I'm not sure if I'm okay with that or not. Sometimes it's an intentional lacuna, the self-destructive urge to let time dissolve without preservation. It may be that now, but it's also that my camera and all my lenses are screwed up and fixing them is pretty far down the to-do list. But why? Is laundry more important than pictures? Is getting a job?

Swimming in dread the size of an apartment complex pool—can't slap me around quite like the ocean, but it does kinda limit where I can go.


Hatteras 2016.


Sometimes I wonder if I subconsciously sow chaos in my personal life so I won't have time to think about what's going on outside my own sphere. Sorry, can't engage with local, national, or international politics right now because I have to spend all my energy cleaning up romantic messes. Maybe it's that I need to apply my emotions to something I feel I can affect.

Also: does prettiness matter? If people didn't insist on calling me cute my whole life, would I feel such a need to look tough? Is it bad to look cute? Is it bad to look tough? Isn't it better to just be tough?

Not feeling super-over-the-top tough today.


But if people are such a mystery, how can you possibly make decisions regarding them?


If I learned anything hiking for 3 months it's this: people are the adventure. After a time you're climbing endless identical mountains in a string of endless identical steps, exciting adventures having given way to mundane chores. To create adventure then, you have to up the stakes. But inside a human, any human, is a well of mystery that does not run dry.

NYC 2016

(I learned other things, of course, useful ones. Rhetoric...)


Is the process of growing up watching certainties get polluted with doubt?

It's not thoughts v. feelings, it's now-feelings v. past-feelings v. present-thoughts v. past-thoughts about future-feelings, and so on forever. I feel stuck between mirrors, reflected endlessly in every direction, lost in the sequence and unable to tell which me is me.


Accepting imperfection.
(Imperfect at accepting imperfection.)

Woke up amid darkness to a confusion of time and place. Feeling the tug of familiarity, I was deeply sad that this place I seemed to love I would have to leave.

It was my room, my house, recognizable but unfamiliar. I couldn't access the well of memories resting just out of reach. For once, emotion cut loose from thought.

NYC 2016


How do I handle this core conviction that love means loss?
The compulsion to clutch, the obsession with letting go, they don't subside.

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