comolalechuza

Well, I was more or less offline for a year. Here I am again, at least for a little while.

We are born, and so we are free. So, happy birthday!

Mark the calendar! Scratch the day off in the day timer! Put sticky notes all over the house! Most importantly, invite your parents and everyone you know!

Saturday, September 9th
The Soda, 211 12 ave SW

Kesslar Tidal, Nathan M. Godfrey, and Naomi Burkhart

We will have a good night of good folk, blues, pop... We'll see y'all there!

Call my cell phone with any questions, or if you can help out distributing flyers! I'll be making them tomorrow night.

I'm excited! Are you?!

Now that an apartment is guaranteed, I have no problems. I feel remarkably, simply happy.

Found an apartment! Who wants to help me set it up?

I am suspicous that the real reason I am so adament about finding a roommate is that I am afraid of being alone again. Mentally, I seem to be swinging back and forth between idealizing having my own apartment and idealizing the roommates I had before (none of whom, mind you, are looking for someone to live with.)
I realize, in theory, that I hide from my emotional problems, instabilities, responsibilities &c by distracting myself with people. Living with other people gives me the opportunity to socialize almost constantly, therefore lifting any responsibility to sorting out my shit, even to the extent of fully unpacking or really keeping my room clean - as an aside, odd that I can manage to keep the public rooms in a house very clean by their nature of being part of the social aspect of living with others. Granted, yes, I can easily just invite people over to an apartment I may live in alone, but this is not foolproof, nor is it as difficult to turn down than a roommate watching an interesting movie or offering to cook a meal together. If I have something that should take priority for myself, even stemming to something like homework, I will not do it in those types of situations! I need to change this!

This entry is laregely jumbled, but the idea is there. Anyone have a suggestion? I'm sure it's generally a common problem (not that that makes it any easier or less frustrating).

While I was gone, my father and stepmother split up. Even though we lived together for years, I could never really feel close to her, or that I knew her at all. I had no idea what to expect when I came back: would she be cold? Polite? Come to meet me at the airport, seperately from my father? I was worried, even though I did not imagine a particular scenario to brood over.
She took me out to dinner last night, to a beautiful and expensive restaraunt. She was smiling the entire time, and asked a few questions that received answers far too long. My stomach clenched when I saw the bill of 90-some dollars.
She smiled at me kindly and told me that it's fine, her pleasure, that sometimes food is a celebration and she's proud of me. I felt badly for doubting her character.

Music off in the middle of the forest, the air warm and heavy and the people drinking but friendly. I wandered off, exploring for the deepest part near the bank of the river, curious about the color. Stepped on a large rock that promptly fell in with my weight, taking me with it. I was pretty soaked and almost taken by the current.
I had gone with three friends, boys, and I trust them implicitly. Most of the time, we were singing Bob Dylan, Blind Blake, Leadbelly; or making up field hollers, Lomax style, all harmonzing at the top of our lungs and beating out loud percussion on whatever we could find - rocks, guitar cases, our bellies or thighs. A few more, strangers to me but not the others, came and went, adding to the choruses or just listening for a while. We chilled a bottle of tequila in the river and found a remote patch of grass where we could hear the water to set up camp. The hundred faces waiting for the show got drunker and drunker.
The official music started. When Nathan played, even the most obnoxious were quiet. I half-improvized harmonies on a song and felt very accomplished.
We danced crazy and full of excitement. The two bottles of red wine were almost gone now, too.
It was hot and sticky, everything smelled of salt and pine. A group of us, abou eight, snuck to the river again. I couldn't find the moon and the stars weren't very bright, but the sky was yellow - not the orangey glow on the horizon when you're on the highway toward the city, but a complex and warm color behind the outlines of trees. I could hardly see anything but contrast. We removed all our clothing - it was the most natural next step - and hollered gasped about how cold the water was. Three of us sat, arms over shoulders and waists, skin soft and damp and feeling clean, watching others sputtering and yelling. Another round of harmonies. I tried to sing as loudly as I could until I felt like my whole life before was all the same breath, and I was just beginning to exhale now.

The last journal nicely timed a specific part of my life. Now that that's over...