Category Archives: destroy that tape loop

springtime, even though it never was winter here.


hello! i have been writing blog entries in my head for months, but i never have the internet time to actually do it, it seems. i wrote a lot of really good ones and i LOST them, ugh, oh no. where did they go? i’ve been remarkably busy with my book, trying to get it out into the world in as many forms as possible, trying to get people to actually read it. the library! i would like it to appear at the library, any library, but mostly i have to find a distributor and i think maybe i need to pay a lot of money? but i’m really not sure. i wish somebody could do this all for me: fundraising, promoting, asking people to do things, technical stuff. i’m fine with mailing books, writing, and blogging about this process. i can do that part. i realized that i haven’t written anything besides blog posts for at least six months because i’m too busy trying to bring this thing into the world. that makes me sad.
in other news, i’ve started binding again for the first time since 2003. last time it was motivated by pure self-hatred and body dysphoria, it felt desperate, urgent. this time it’s way more casual. a gender hiccup, not a gender crisis. no desires for surgery or pronoun changes. i just like the way my chest looks more when it’s flat. it’s interesting how differently people perceive me–a lot more hatred (i’m pretty sure someone spit at me the other day) and a lot more embarrassing pity. as a (possibly-controversial) side-note, i’m pretty tired of hearing gender-conforming people complain about how nobody GETS their obscure gender. i’d really fucking like to walk down the street dressed the way i want without having to worry that someone is going to bash my face in, without planning what i will tell my clients who will inevitably be triggered by my bruised face, without calculating how much sick time i have left, how much i will need to take to recover. without stressing about how i’ve already had two concussions that fucked up my life and they’re cumulative, they’re cumulative and i think if i get a third there is a part of me that will never come back. i don’t give a fuck if anyone GETS my (strange) gender, I WANT TO BE ALLOWED TO LIVE. i want to not be scared. i want to not have a history that includes a man at a train station whispering to me the details of how he will kill my faggot ass once these people leave, how he has a gun and no one will miss one less faggot….and how terrified i was to speak, to say one word, because my voice gives me away as female and what, what, what will he do to me then? i have tried to conform and i can’t, i can’t. there is a common misperception that people who don’t conform do it because they “like being weird” and while i do like it in some ways, it is mainly out of a lack of choice. i have tried and i have failed. the choices are: accept it or die. i don’t want to die, so that is my only choice.
the ex i love most once called me an “anti-drogynous boy in a skirt” which melted my heart, the way i was understood. i am not a boy, but…there aren’t any words for what i am, and in many ways it doesn’t actually matter.
ok, writing this blog post has actually made me very upset, i think i need to go home and drink some skullcap tea now or something. in other news, i got a crock pot and think it’s an important form of self-care. i am trying to prioritize friendship more. soon i will be able to catch up on my mail. soon, soon. i am getting somewhat used to working 12-hour days, being out of the house from 7am to 10pm (or 7pm to 10am when i work overnights). my home is still a sanctuary. i pretend that it’s a ship’s cabin. so tiny and so cozy.

the burning clock of time.


I was just sitting on the couch crying at long island medium on netflix, of all things. crying for the simple reason that in every episode, the running theme in what the dead are trying to communicate to their living loved ones is: don’t feel guilty. don’t feel like you could have done more. you did all you could. our beloved dead, they just want us to be happy. I could have used that message a long time ago, but here it is, now. I suppose I will need it again, soon enough.

last week I saw n. for the first time in a decade, really. she’s one of my good friends from high school. we’d lost touch because she was in a supreme downward spiral. she pushed everyone away & then disappeared. I had no idea what happened to her, and her birth name is a very common one, so she’s hard to track on the internet. but then last spring we ran into each other on the street in Oakland. she lives in santa cruz, not far from here, and last weekend I was down there & I gave her a call. she picked me up & we drove to the beach, trying to encapsulate the past decade when there was so much to say.

I said, “I thought you were dead.” she says, “I really did almost die,” and then told me how she came to live. she is healthier than i’d ever seen her. we saw people swimming in the ocean and we decided to go. to the nude beach, because we didn’t have bathing suits. the pacific ocean, in October. I haven’t been in this body of water yet, it’s too cold up where I live. it was kind of too cold then, but the water helped us focus. I put my head under and let out an involuntary yelp and she laughed so hard. it was sunny and here we are, this girl I love so much, who I honestly thought was gone forever, I mean even when I saw her she acted like a ghost, it was impossible to talk, she wasn’t even there. and now she is here, and I am here, and we were there, and I got salt on my face like I was craving, and we were so cold but we didn’t mind, every nerve in our skin firing, the discomfort reminding us that we are still alive.

message in a bottle.


last week i went to the east coast for a few weeks to visit my old life. since i’ve been back in california, things have been really shitty for me. a conspiracy of conflicts with people near and far, a feeling of desperate futility and ineffectiveness at work, an upsurge of violence in an already violent neighborhood, being depressed, and a huge bucket of homesickness dumped on top have left me feeling like complete and utter shit.

i will never feel at home in the bay area, even though it’s a great place. it simply isn’t mine. i longed for the residential stability & solid friendships of my last city. longed for the only home i’ve had that felt like mine, that i gave up in a time of grief and insanity to someone who utterly does not deserve it. there is nothing i can do about this situation, and i am working on letting it go, but it’s SO hard. hard when you were finally able to relax, set down the burden you’d carried for twenty-six years, when you let yourself believe in something, and then it gets taken again. another reminder that nothing good will stay with you. that it’s always time to leave.

last night i felt the urge to re-read a zine i published 4 years ago, with a friend who was my prisoner penpal at the time. (he’s now out of prison, in college, in love, and doing great. i never see or hear from him anymore, except for as an occasional “like” on facebook.)  i just reread it for the hell of it, but was struck by this paragraph, written in that house, when i had a fucking home. it struck me so hard, it was kind of exactly what i needed to hear:

lately i have realized that it’s okay to be homesick forever. it’s okay to be homesick and never go home. it’s okay to acknowledge that particular ache and keep on truckin’. pino (a cuban refugee and fellow former new yorker) said, “millions of people all over the world are displaced. they never get to fuckin’ go home, so why should we?” and that’s another sentence that stopped me with its truth. just stopped me right in my complaining tracks. homesick isn’t so bad. it means you’re doing new things, not stagnating, not accepting bullshit just because it’s familiar. homesick isn’t so bad when you promise to not forget the things a place has taught you.

and oh wow is that true. and oh wow did i need to hear that. thank you, past self, 27-year-old ocean, who could not even imagine what was going to happen, thank you for knowing what the 31-year-old part of yourself would need to know, thank you for thinking it and for writing it down in an accessible place. so that once i needed it, really needed it, i’d know where it was.

this past month or so, in “i statements”


i stay up the latest. i have had several radical changes of heart. i told her, in a moment of desperation, how i continued to live, how i get out of bed every morning. i have been blindsided several times today–once by a song shuffling on my ipod, one that i haven’t heard in almost a year, one that i put back on after deleting it because i thought that i could handle it by now–and once by something i don’t want to mention here.

i am just trying to live my life. i almost took an ativan but didn’t. i have revelations every day. i had the worst thing happen with my memoir. i felt grief, real grief, for this book. i felt sad because nobody knew what to say, even though i didn’t expect them to, because it’s SUCH a strange situation. i thought it was over; but it’s not, it’s not over, and the author of one of my favorite books is the one who told me so.

i miss pittsburgh but i can’t imagine living there again. i lose every home i love in painful ways; it’s just the truth of my life. just the cross i have to bear. i saw a psychic for free on valencia street who told me that i shoot doves from my heart, and they touch other people, that i assumed a human form because i wanted to be able to receive love as well as give it.

i have witnessed a lot of pain lately.

i am thinking of doing something i swore i’d never do (grad school!). i stopped by that bookstore because i knew there’d be a zine in there that was powerful enough to change my life. i was right. i don’t know if i want to cover up my scars with a tattoo anymore because several people said that my scars make them feel safe, because they can tell that i’ve been through something too.

i don’t know if very many people read this blog anymore. i don’t know where i’m going, or what i’m doing. i fixed my bike chain by myself and it made me so fucking proud. i am mending bridges, healing old wounds, and learning so much.

farewell, lorazepamsam.


that was your okcupid username. i use it in this post because i went on the worst okcupid date of my life with you. last march, at the end of a long and lonesome winter. i should have ended it at the very beginning, when i bought a pabst blue ribbon and you made a fucking joke about putting something in it. you apologized profusely when i called you on it & my instincts told me that you were awkward but not a threat. so it continued, down by the river with a sixpack, watching the lights on the water. i can’t remember what we talked about. it was okay, i guess, until you told me that that horrible thing had happened to our mutual friend, X. X was someone who i had known a decade ago and hadn’t talked to in years. i knew her at a very bad time in her life, and you told me something horrible that happened to her in that time, that i hadn’t known about. you mentioned this like it was just a casual anecdote to be shared on a date, a prelude before a kiss, just making conversation.

i said, “i have to go.” went home and fucking lost it. lost it. cried so hard that i thought i was gonna die. i couldn’t believe what had happened and i couldn’t believe that you’d told me like that.

this incident was a blessing in disguise. i reconnected with X, apologized for not knowing, for not supporting her more. she said it was okay. we wound up falling in love, for a brief moment, and healing each other in ways we couldn’t have imagined. throughout our affair, you were an awkward background figure. you were X’s roommate and occasional lover. you’d say hi to me when i stumbled messy-haired from X’s bed in the morning. your presence unnerved me. i didn’t feel safe around you. X kicked you out when you got into a huge, pill-fueled fight with a neighbor. the neighbor broke your nose with a punch and you threatened to kill everyone.

i didn’t think about you again. i was relieved that you were gone. i didn’t think about what happened to you, where you went, until this afternoon, ten fucking minutes before getting on BART to go to work, i looked at my phone to see a text from X, saying, “hey……i don’t know if you heard…….but [lorazepamsam] killed themselves last night……shot himself in the head…..just thought i should tell you.”

i work at a mental health crisis center. i was feeling a little crisis-y myself with this news, even though i hardly knew you, even though i didn’t like you. on BART, shaky hands, i took half a lorazepam (better known as ativan) because i thought i just would not be able to get through the day without having a fucking panic attack. i laughed a little at the irony. half a lorazepam because lorazepamsam is dead.

when i went on that date with you, i didn’t even know what lorazepam was. now i get paid to hand it out to people, write down what time they take it so they don’t take too many. now i take half of one on my way to work, to cope with the death of you. i don’t believe that spirits who die violently find rest easily. i thought about how uncomfortable it was to be next to your life for one night. i cannot imagine the raw discomfort and pain that you endured for 35+ years. i hope you are in a safer place, but i don’t believe that you are.

i thought work would be rough but it was actually mostly good. the clients were friendly and sweet, funny and happy to be there. reflective. about 6 hours into my shift, the small street became filled with cop cars. when the medical examiner’s van came, we knew that someone had died. domestic violence that had turned deadly was the rumor on the street. the clients sat outside, smoking. i was worried they’d be triggered–a lot have experienced violence at the hands of the police–but instead they grew reflective, commenting on the fragile nature of life, how at any second it can be over. how lucky we are to be here, on this side of the street, safe, alive.

if there’s a moral to this story, then i wish you’d show me.


today i was walking to the berkeley library from BART. i was sniffling down shattuck, sick and grumpy but glad to be out of the house & in the sunshine. i heard a little girl’s voice say plaintively, “daddy, why do you keep hurting me?” followed the sound to a red-faced crying girl of about 4, holding her mouth as though she’d just been hit there. she was walking next to a boy who looked about a year older, and they were trailing a man who was eating ice cream and walking quickly. “you’re clumsy,” he said, as though he were trying to convince himself. “you just fell.”

i started feeling upset. wondered if i should intervene but really what can you do? i have worked for child protective services and i would recommend never, ever getting them involved if you can help it at all. nothing but fucked-up horror stories everywhere, ruined lives and trauma compounded upon trauma. i turned back and openly stared at the dude, hoping that i could at least shame him into acting like less of a raging douchebag in public and maybe get him to think about his actions a tiny bit. he looked back at me and our eyes met. i was projecting you are a piece of fucking shit at him so hard. the look in his eyes said, i don’t fucking care. he was about my age, white, tattooed but it was hard to tell if he was punk or just into tattoos. good looking but not devastatingly so. you could tell that women loved him and he treated them like shit and got away with it because of these good looks; it made me hate him even more. i went to the library and cried in the bathroom, which made a difference in no one’s life and changed nothing. i am getting good at managing the rage and powerlessness i feel towards the sadnesses of the world, but sometimes they flare up so hard.

it reminded me of an incident i haven’t thought of since around the time it happened, about five years ago. i was at 23rd & 8th in manhattan, waiting for emily in front of burritoville. i saw a girl who was probably 12, with her brother who was probably 9, screaming at some sort of father figure who was stomping down the street. i can’t remember the exact details too well, but i remember the resignation in her voice, how she sounded so old. he completely took off, just left these two children on a street corner in manhattan, and she was chasing after him but then she stopped. she turned back and looked at me and i knew–in the way that women are so psychic sometimes with each other, in the way that strangers in new york city share connections in ways that are so meaningful and so real even though you know you’ll never see them again–that we recognized a certain pain in each other. and i wanted to say something to her so badly but i absolutely, in that moment, could not think of what.

now if i had to do that moment over again, i would go up to her and say, “hey!” in that way that grabs peoples’ attention. i would meet her eyes, kneeling if i had to (i’m really tall) and say to her, “listen to me. your life will not always be as bad as it is now. you need to stay strong, grow up, and get away.”

maybe you think i am presumptuous? maybe you think that i am crazy? well you can think that all you want. either you get it or you don’t; either you connect with people that way or you don’t.*  if you don’t get it there’s no way for me to explain to you but if you know what i am talking about then you know it so fiercely. of course i don’t know if her life will ever get any better. it certainly could get a lot worse, and while i agree with many of the “it gets better” critiques, i would like to say that i never would have made it out if there wasn’t a voice deep in me saying what i wanted to say to that girl. and i wanted to say it because i am worried that she didn’t have that voice and maybe she needed to borrow mine. and although life as an adult has certainly not been easy, i’d take it any day compared to the powerlessness of being a child. to the daily torment of being a hated child.

in other news (or at least, the other news that i’m willing to talk about here): i have been reading lots of books but finishing none, pondering getting my MSW and/or learning how to drive, listening to one jawbreaker song on almost sickening repeat (it’s “sluttering” if you were wondering) and it’s been oddly healing some residual sludge in my psyche, reading some truly great blogz (current faves: humans, humans and queerfatfemme–check the links bar to yr right if you wanna! they’re both there!) and getting inspired, fretting about my books, and not sleeping enough. goodnight.



*isn’t it sad that i still feel the need to address potential enemies & frenemies? such are the perils of a public blog, i suppose.

i was gonna write this for my zine but fuck it, it goes here. this way you can see the colors.


sometimes i am just shocked by the beauty of this place. like, i can’t even believe that i get to live here. (ok, this was taken at the beach in marin county and obvi i don’t live there. but you know what i mean) it still feels, in some ways, like i’m on vacation, that this isn’t really my life, like my life is elsewhere and i will return to it. not that i’m living it now. but in other ways this feels like of course, of course it’s my life, it’s actually what i have been waiting for and everything else was just leading up to it.

i feel a little bit like i did when i was 19 and first moving to philly, except the exact opposite. some things were parallel: big life change, new city, big city, out of my element. but back then i was traumatized and scabby and utterly brimming with self-hatred, which was not helped at all by the mean snotty punx i was surrounded by. but now i am older and i’ve figured things out. now, when confronted with this bevy of things i don’t know, instead of feeling like, “holy shit i am so fucking stupid how do i not know all these things?” i am like, “cool, there is so much to learn! and i also have so much to teach people about other shit THEY don’t know about!” and it’s so good to feel that way. SO. FUCKING. GOOD. who would have thought that i’d ever get here?

my tarot readings that i have been giving myself all say that i am powerful. i need to access my power now. i am doing my internship with prisoners and it’s rad but it takes a lot of me. and it’s just the saddest things. can’t say them here, of course. but reading the cards, at midnight in the 24 hour laundromat, with slowjamz playing on the radio, they say that i can do it, and i believe them.

remembering to stay present, here in my body, and breathe through whatever bad things are happening in my reality and also in my mind. learning how to deal with a name springing up in an unexpected place, like a petition at work. that feeling of never being able to escape, of never getting better. one day i will be okay. i don’t know what it will take, but it will happen. i just have to keep breathing until then.

i’ve been lazy about writing. there are lots of sweet distractions and i just need a break. been pounding back kava kava endlessly. remember to breathe. i am so anxious here, even though in many ways there is far less to be afraid of. i cut off the last of my purple hair. back to work, back to reality. i look like a cute dyke/boy, although i am neither. more dyke than boy. but still, none of those.

going out to yoga. talking about hard things over indian buffet in a restaurant with a couch full of giant stuffed animals. good talks over crackly prison collect call phone lines. riding bikes in the sunshine. watching “90210” while drunk-sewing. endless quesadillas. giving tarot readings and being shocked at the team dresch reference in the guidebook, bursting into song. stacks of library books. sweet hugs. talking about where we were a year ago, and how far that is now.

leaving the house. it’s a good idea!


so, yesterday i went out to get beer. i’d actually been out of the house all day. i was calm during two situations that shoulda been stressful (job interview, old ladiez throwing shade at the PLP) and stressed out during something that wasn’t a big deal (hanging out with punx! aaaah!!). feeling shaky. hyperventilating a little bit on BART, which i normally don’t do. needed something to take the edge off and sometimes beer is the least self-harming.

so! i drank my friend’s last beer and then headed to the corner store by myself, to get more. on the way, a boy-girl couple with an acoustic guitar sang a song about me. just about my outfit and how we were all walking down the street together. i turned around and sang, “ohmigod, i thought i was just stepping out for a beer…” and the girl interrupted and said, “follow us!” in a way that matched the tone and music perfectly. “but now you’re singing a song about me,” i sang, “and i’m so glad to be here…” we all smiled at each other and then walked in the store, like old friends. the girl kept singing that i am beautiful, but i think she was just trying to manipulate me into buying them a beer. i don’t know. it’s hard to tell.

inside the corner store they got weird. it was clear they were huge drunks and getting kinda rowdy and a little offensive. they told the corner store guy to fuck off because they thought he was charging too much and i just felt embarrassed. especially because he isn’t! i felt the need to apologize for them when it was my turn. he smiled sheepishly and said, “oh, i don’t care. i don’t know them. and you get all kinds of people in here…good, bad…” i could tell that my apologizing made him feel better, and that made me happy.

i walked home with a totebag of beer and into another sweet adventure. the night air felt great and full of possibility. it’s not too cold yet.

this is mostly a letter i was writing in my head, to amanda. but i thought i should just write it all here instead.


i’m glad i came out here. my ipod keeps shuffling to songs about california, songs about this year being better than the last. i believe in them, because i have to.

today i went to the oakland library, which honestly made me kinda homesick because the pgh library is so fucking great that any other library anywhere is pretty disappointing. but then the library closed and i had to make a several-mile trek up to rockridge to hang out with scarin and andrew and some danish couchsurfers. biking during rush hour, oh no, right? but it was totally fine. drivers aren’t totally fucked up here, not all of them anyway. they’re used to bikers and there are bike lanes and routes everywhere and it’s so nice. about halfway through my journey i saw a house whose garden was so magnificent i just needed to stop. hot pink petals everywhere, or i guess they were more magenta, so vibrant it hurt to look. i took a few blossoms that had fallen onto the sidewalk, pressed them in my journal to mail to my girl (who isn’t really my girl anymore, but i think i can still send her flowers and have it be okay). but i just stood and stared for a while, overwhelmed by the beauty. the foliage here is so different. it makes me feel like i’ve really gotten somewhere. there’s a palm tree on my block, can you imagine?

eventually i made it to my destination and met up with everyone. we ate mexican food and then went to this lake. the sun was setting and it was so ridiculously cold (okay, like probably in the upper 60’s, but that’s cold for swimming!) but we all went swimming anyway. scarin was rocking the most amazing bathing suit, and the two danish dudes were brightly colored and hilarious. we all splashed and played and talked and it was fun, even though my fingertips were turning blue.

walking back to the car i was cold and shivery. the sunset made all of us stop and take notice. you can’t write about sunsets. you just can’t. you have to be there. but trust me, it was gorgeous.

scarin had the access code to this hippie hot tub, so we all went there. basically, some rich dude with a hot tub has given out access codes to a few respectful people, granting them access to his backyard. these people can share them with a select few respectful people, and on and on. there’s a shower and changing area and a big hot tub, non-chlorinated. the lights are on low and everyone is naked. speech is prohibited, to cut down on sexual harassment possibilities. but i think also, to make you more aware of the moment, to make it more of a space to renew one’s energy.

so. i was naked, with one of my favorite & oldest palz, and three dudes i’d met just that night, but it was totally fine, not awkward or weird at all, with anyone. strangers came and went in complete silence. the hot tub was almost too hot, even for a hot-water-lover like myself, so i had to keep getting out. there was a hammock next to the tub, and i laid on it.

the hammock! remember the hammock? [for those who don’t know, i had a hammock several houses ago {which was actually amanda’s, but i was its custodian i guess} & had to leave it behind. i was really bummed. beyond bummed. this summer, it was finally rescued. i was so excited. i’d been waiting for so long. i went over ben’s house to use it, with amanda, and within five minutes of laying in it the weathered, frayed, un-taken-care-of ropes snapped] when we fell through i tried to be cool with it. i said “at least we got five minutes” but i was angry and sad. all spring and summer, all i’d wanted to do was lay in a fucking hammock. be caressed by the breeze. feel like i was floating. and it just felt like i wasn’t going to get to do it. it felt like i was so close, but wasn’t there. like i was being taunted, or something.

and here i was. 2,500 miles from my old backyard. in this awesome hammock, naked in semi-public but feeling safe. skin warm and soft. one of the danes sighed, “there’s no place in the world i’d rather be than here, right now.”  no dogs barking or neighbors screaming at each other, which usually punctuated most of my hammocking back in pgh. i finally got my hammock time. i didn’t even know it was coming; just thought i’d have to do without. i  never could have imagined this night, this circumstance, any of it. but it happened, and it was so fucking sweet.

you said the past won’t rest until we jump the fence, until we leave it behind.


before i start! a VERY SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT! i have long since suspected that haterz were reading this blog, but figured that i was just being paranoid. sadly, i was not. to those of you who read this blog to, i don’t know, confirm how much i suck and what an awful person i am, i am asking you politely to stop torturing yourself & stop reading this blog. i understand the urge to read annoying blogs–i’ve certainly done my fair share of it. but, i am just a human being. this blog is a chronicle of my heart and brain. i love with an open heart and i do so imperfectly. i need somewhere to write about it & i don’t appreciate yinz violating my safe space. in summation (in case you did not want to read all that:)  if you hate me, hate my writing, and hate my blog–DON’T READ IT!

anyway. what did i do this past week? oh, just packed up my whole apartment, said goodbye to most of the people i love, and rode a bus for over 2,500 miles. the last time i rode the bus across the country was utterly miserable, but this time wasn’t so bad. thanks to my pills and my pillow. i have seriously never traveled with a full-size pillow before. i don’t know why, i guess it just seemed ridiculously frou-frou, but it made a gigantic difference.

my last week in pittsburgh i was numb. couldn’t comprehend that this was really happening. felt like someone else’s life. got such an outpouring of love from people, it was really inspiring. everyone kept saying, “you know this will always be your home,” which meant so much to me. i had issues with “home” my whole life before i got here–living in unsafe homes, getting kicked out of homes, etc. and that’s why i loved it so, because it really was home, and i think it always will be.

missing the girl with the dichromatic eyes peering lovingly into mine. so much. it was a lot harder than i thought it would be, leaving her behind. it was hard leaving everyone, but it didn’t feel quite as tragic. felt like, oh of course i’ll see you again. and we can just talk and laugh and it’ll be like i never left.

on my last day in my apartment, i laid on the empty living room floor. i remembered laying on my empty bedroom floor of my first apartment in pittsburgh, waiting for a. and the moving van to get there, wondering what was to come. and i laid on my floor this time, knowing. it was an interesting set of bookends.

on the bus, i befriended a family that was also moving to oakland via greyhound. they were from west virginia, so they traveled almost as far as i did. a mom and two middle school aged kids. they were so sweet and welcoming. the 14 year old girl took a shine to me, and we sat on the floor of the salt lake city bus terminal and she told me of her middle school woes. at one point she said, “you’re the only person i can talk to!” which was sweet and sad. i tried to give her advice about how middle and high school isn’t the end of the world, and how usually people who are weird in school grow up to be interesting adults. it was nice.

other than that, i slept a lot, ate over priced snack foods, had terrible luck with vending machines and my water bottles rolling away never to be found again. listened to a lot of the same music, over and over again. didn’t fret too much about where i was headed or obsess too much over what i was leaving behind. which is unusual for me. i ran around downtown st. louis for 20 minutes and thoroughly enjoyed it, despite the 100+ degree temps. also i walked around columbus ohio for a few minutes in search of a mailbox, that was nice too. ate thai food in rock springs, WY of all places.

and here i am! west oakland. having a good time thus far even though i haven’t done a whole lot. i’ve hardly left the house, hardly left my room since i’ve gotten here. it’s okay, i need to rest.