burrito year

my life is incredibly different now than it was one year ago today. I didn't know where I was going to be. But I know where I'll be on this day next year. 

I'll be in Los Angeles. I'll still be asleep after my long drive home. 
I will wake up and a sense of calm and excitement will sweep over me. 
I won't resent the year I left behind in Ashland. I learned a lot there. We had closure. I will reward myself with a burrito and come home and sit at my parents kitchen table and eat it. 

I can't not care. I have to care. Caring is who I am and that is not going to change no matter how many times you yell at me in public for it. 
I give people second chances, and third chances, and sixth chances. I give them chances until they truly don't deserve them anymore because I can only hope that there is something good in them. I have to believe that and I want to believe that. 

I can't just Eternal Sunshine someone out of my mind. 

When people come into my life they stay, unless they choose to leave. And that is how it will always be.

7.5 hours.

I'm sitting in my hotel room in San Francisco and it has never been more clear to me. 

I am making a huge mistake going back. 
But I can't change that. 

Last night I joked my way through dinner, saying I should just quit now, see where it gets me. My dad said, "Hey. I'm paying for that. Enjoy it." 

I replied, "If I don't I'll pay you back." 

Manando that shit.

"I love you. Make out with lots of girls." 

"I love you too. And I'll try." he said as I slammed the car door. 



This was my goodbye with my best friend. 

Every part of me is saying finishing college is a mistake. Which is crazy. But somewhere deep in my gut I know I shouldn't go back. But I have to. 
Potentially this year could be the biggest mistake of my life. 
Potentially this year could be the year I learn the most. 
Potentially this year could be the year I learn I know what I need to know to do this for real. 

Regardless, unfortunately or fortunately I'm going back. Tomorrow. 


So. 

I guess we'll see.

I think I'm dreading this year to protect myself. 


I think it's going to be fine. 


Maybe I'll actually learn something. 


Who knows.

pretzel logic.

Different pieces of my love rest in different places. 

A piece in fort and under the covers, looking at your stern face as you slept and breathed deeply. 
A piece in the gravel, in the morning next to your umbrella and my jacket on the ground. 
A piece in the back of the car, my head in your lap as you sang to me horribly and sweetly.
A piece in that dirty house, wearing your shirt, in the cold and everything smelling like bacon and effort. 
A piece in the kitchen when I made you dance and you did and I looked up at you and knew what I wanted. 


I tend to believe that if I try hard enough, if I say a lot of things maybe everything will stay, everything will be here.

Then there are the pieces that do. 

A piece on your shoulder, on your couch with a beer and a look that knows what I need, when I need it. 
A piece on the rock, near the ocean, on the beach and the face that I've know as long as mine. 
A piece in a place that I don't want to be but there's pizza and a happy-saddness that comforts me. 


As for the largest piece, I should call it a chunk or a slice, that will probably be somewhere else tomorrow or the next or the next. 

He kissed my forehead. We lay there, in the gravel in a park in London as the sun came up. Being kissed on the forehead always seemed patronizing to me. But this one came at the right moment. 

I did not cry. At first. I hung up the phone in our poorly lit cockroach hotel in Rome and didn't know what to do. This was the logical thing to do. We weren't going to see each other again. Why would I be in a relationship with someone I wasn't going to see again. 
 I joked that Rome was the best city for me to be dumped in. Pasta and wine. Comfort foods. 
It wasn't until Florence that I realized what had happened. 
We stood on at bridge and the sun was setting. I didn't want to say anything. I didn't want to talk about it. But I had to. So we did. I allowed myself to be sad about it in Florence. But as soon as we got off of that train I couldn't think about it anymore. I was in Europe. There's no point to being heart broken in Europe. 

I realize now it will be good for me to not be with someone for awhile. 
I need to be with myself. 

Because the main thing I realized about myself on this trip is that I'm pretty sure I'm capable of falling in love with any one now. And if I'm not careful I'll be the window girl for the rest of myself, only associated with other people. 
And I don't want that. 
I want to be associated with myself.