I don't want to go back. But I don't want to stay here. I guess I just don't want to be anywhere, or in any situation that I've been in. Seattle is such a beautiful city, and I'm glad to call it my home, but the noise and motion of the city has been grinding me into a fine powder.
California makes me glad I left. No matter how much I miss my family, or wish I had Jason around, or pine for a salt scented, head scrubbing walk along the beach--moving was one of the best decisions I have ever made. This place is so static. I felt myself re-rooting to the soil of this place within minutes, old habits carried out. It is so alluring, a pattern that could take me back permenatly if I forget to disengage.
My family has been trying so hard, but of course they still slip, and the sound of my old name comes down to nail me to this place. Boxed in, I fight to breathe and then smile. Knowing I've already escaped.
Just like many other times this night has caught me dreaming dreams of having the stones to split off and do something. Run off to the woods. Get a job in montana training horses and live in a trailer. Move into a commune. Start a doomed farming operation on Lopez, then start a succesfull b&b instead. Bike across the country with my cat riding in my messenger bag.
I think I need to go away for awhile. Take a trip to someone else's static and settle myself down.