Welcome To My Bed

Getting your words' worth.

Things on paper mean that there's a record of them happening. And maybe that's the biggest reason why I write. I want concrete evidence of how I felt on any given day. Evidence as real as the cement in sidewalks.

I had a teacher who used to say that language was power, and that without a language of our own we would be nothing.

My new roommate tells me that one of the things he's missing most right now is hearing me read him what I've written out loud every day. I called him to read him a poem before, but it isn't really the same thing. Being apart for the sake of our families, even for such a short amount of time seems foolish, especially when it creates an unhappiness that is easily avoidable. I almost left here yesterday, packing my things as I yelled about how I could never live in the basement again, about how being in this place at all just makes me emotionally unstable. And afterwards, I apologized for saying it, but my things are still packed.

The car is in the driveway and I'm wishing I knew off the top of my head the way to where I need to be. It would be so easy.

On paper, life must seem great. We've signed away the next several months of our lives and we can't go back on it now. Things are perfect, as perfect as they are allowed to be. Come May, it's looking more and more like California, if only for a little while. I worry that if I don't go, there will be someone else there to fill the space of my absence, someone more interesting, or just more immediate than the girl who let herself get stuck in a place she vowed not to go back to. If the time we're spending apart now is this difficult, and it's only a miniature separation, then four months and 3,000 miles will be worse, maybe even damaging.

Big things can be terrifying. I remember a drive from the late summer, up into the lower mountains right along the border between here and New York, and someone saying that the sheer size of things was enough to be terrifying. Like whales or water towers. Lately I've been thinking that this is one of those things. It's so big; I have no control over what it does to me or inspires me to do. And maybe that is what's real.