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Still I am crying almost every day, but not every day, and now I can usually choke it back and shove it down and wipe away the tears before they overcome my face.

I remember DBC and for how a short period I felt like I belonged, even if I don't remember anymore what it stood for. I remember feeling like my skeletons were allowed out of the closet and that they were understood. I guess all of those skeletons are still real, but they're covered up with six years of crafting my life how I want it so that they hardly seem relevent anymore and no one around me really has any idea who I used to be or the things I experienced or did, and it doesn't really seem to matter anymore who that person was (that person who is still inside of me).

I remember Rainshadow and feeling like I was alone in a close knit community. I remember feeling invisible and small, even though even the biggest burnouts and losers were accepted and loved. I remember being so excited that my best friend was coming to Rainshadow and then half the time skipping classes to get high and having panic attacks in the middle of class and leaving, and hardly spending time with her at all. I remember how she used to hate weed and I remember feeling so guilty when I looked at her and I was stoned. I remember smoking weed with her mom and how she scolded me for not ghosting the hit - it was a waste of weed. I remember the first time I got high, which was the first time she got high. I remember hiding in the back seat of my Golf together under a blanket for a half an hour certain that the cops were going to come after us after I was so obviously high at the gas station.

I think it's funny that two of the few pictures we have are taken in North Valleys fast food restaurants, even though I'm pretty sure we were both vegan at the time. I have no idea why I was dressed like an old man, or her like an old woman, but I love this because I do remember feeling like the fact that we had corresponding outfits meant that I was somehow more connected to her than I normally would allow myself to be, and how I felt less like I was on the outside. I now think this is embarrassing and ridiculous, but sometimes feel similarly when people tell me I look like Hannah, especially because Hannah reminds me of her (not only because Hannah is bald).

By my eighteenth birthday I had two friends. Her and Roger. Sometimes I counted more perifrial people as friends to make myself feel better, but from a more objective standpoint, the truth is that by that time I had completely removed myself from the social world because of my anxiety. Even her. By this point our hangouts were irregular and most of the time I was probably just getting high with Roger, even though I didnt like him near as much as I ever did her (which is fucked, because he was a great human being that I seriously mistreated).

I remember being a terrible person to so many people because I was so weak in myself. I remember the last times I saw her and being so distant and weird and feeling so uncool and so alienated and like I didn't belong. I was so ashamed of treating her badly and of being so boring and so - lacking - that I gave up to avoid the issue.

I am just so heartachey for a friendship with a person who I was close to for only a couple years and then abandon. I can't really justify it. But in my world, in my life where I feel so separate and apart and disconnected and disassociated, that friendship meant more to me than maybe it seems like it should have and I go round and round the thoughts and feelings every day at the slightest provocation.  
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Last night we got shwasted and had dirty nasty awesome rock n roll sex and this morning I couldnt tolerate the light coming in from the windows, so he tacked blankets up to cover them and made me a big bowl of peas and carrots.

All day I lay in bed (only getting up to walk the dog) and read Lena Dunham's book.

Tomorrow I start classes again. Dread. Excitement. Which weighs heavier?

Though fear of being the worst teacher is real, I am excited to have a bunch of ladies for students this time 'round.
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The other day I went to bed crying unconsolably over nothing. Over everything and the weight of it all.
Over everything I'll never be, the potential I won't reach, the potential I lack, over how hard life is, how short life is, how unbelievably full life is, how bright it is, so bright I feel like I need to sheild my eyes, or hide in a dark closet and just cry. I get scared of everything I have to lose,and  of all of my inadequecies in equal measure.

How scary and hard life is, and how for some people it's way harder than for others, and too hard for some. How relieved I am, how safe I am. How vulnerable.

All of it. Sometimes I feel like I'm gorging myself on life so hard I might choke. Sometimes I feel like I'm starving for it. Right now it feels like neither of those things.

School starts again on Monday and again I will establish routine and take on responsiblities and intellectual challenges. The routine and challenges excite me, the responsiblities slightly terrify me. I am a below average teacher and take failure very poorly. In less than two months, I will marry Alex. We will wear cheap silver bands probably from WalMart and we will marry in a courthouse with no one but courthouse employees to witness us. We will wear our wedding clothes to the airport and fly to Iceland, and the flight attendent will give us free champagne (at least, this is how I picture it).

I will cry a lot, or not at all. It will be too big to comprehend, or so obvious it's simple.

Or both. As it is every day.
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I am full of fear and anxiety and dread, and every word is rife with conflict.

I need a break.

I'm on break. Winter break.

I love this town this job this life these friends
the truth is its myself

I'm struggling

but I'm always struggling, even when life's at its best.

Spent the weekend at the snow survey cabin on the backside of the snowies with alex and sage. it was quiet, which was hard. my brain is not good at quiet.

but also, it was so fucking beautiful.

I need to positive self talk as much as possible, because no matter the circumstances of my life there seems to be a dread hanging over. I've come to realize that it's a cloud that will always be with me. I realized this long ago, really. I guess it's just that recently I have realized that it isn't inherent to my person that my life will be full of fucked up obstacles; it is inherent to me that I will continue to be an obstacle. That's not positive talk. But shit, it feels very real.
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This time last year I accidently didn't buy the return ticket to stopover in Iceland, where I had planned to meet Josh.
Saturday I bought tickets to Iceland for my honeymoon with Alex in March.
I did(n't) buy the tickets at Night Heron on both occasions, and not on purpose.

I needed a peice of poetry to appear in my life again, and life has delivered.
Some poet once wrote a song-like, rhyming poem about how those who like poetry like it because it gives the lonely heart something to commiserate with. Like the poem is a companion for the miserable. I don't mean this kind of poetry. I mean the Romantic kind, where even when shit has a serious dark edge, it's ultimately life affirming and reveals that despite the cold hard logic and the colder, harder chaos of the world, there is also a Beauty. Intellectual beauty, as Shelley would have it. Poetic Genius as Blake would say. Something eternal, but temporal. A poetic spirit or inspiration or beauty that sweeps through the individual, but that the individual cannot hold, and that some individuals get more than others and some can recognize better than others, but which is external.

The skeptic in me says, "bitch that's privilege and you've got a fuck ton of it"

Which, you know, yeah. Truth. But also, not wholly. And truth isn't the point of poetry, beauty is, and that shit ain't the same thing, Keats.
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