The title sets the tone, but today I don’t know what my title is, I just know that I want to write. I spoke with my Mom this morning, she sounded a little better than she has in a few weeks. Morton’s death and her general depression have made her pretty much immobile. She started talking about writing a book again. I hope she does, she has started some version of a book many times. I just want her to get in to something, and writing, as I have been grateful to find, has helped me more than I ever thought it would. I come here when I have no where else to go, when I don’t know where I am, lost, overwhelmed, sad, anxious, and some times I can sort things out, that I couldn’t have through a phone call with a friend. I hope she makes her book, or at least finds some love in writing, that it could become her place to go when she feels lost.

So many changes ahead. I gave my notice on my apartment this past weekend. I’ll be leaving September 1st. I’m going to get rid of my phone. I have held on to the same phone number for 11 years, I chose it apart from the others the phone company gave me, because the last 4 digits were the amount, plus a dollar of the first big chunk of money I had raised for a project. As of September 1st I can be reached through e-mail and then possibly a cell phone, not sure yet. I like the idea of unloading old things, getting rid of my phone number, and this place that I’ve never been really happy in. It has been a home for me for the last 3 and half years. It has been a productive place, a place of isolation, a place where I started to write, where I fumbled through learning how to edit films, wrote papers, watched too many youtube videos and learned to like myself better. I am ready to leave.

I laid in bed the other day telling myself that I need to let go, let go of this place, let go of everyone I hang on to, let it all go, and I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. I don’t want to hang on to people anymore, afraid that I’ll be left alone, I am alone. I cringe at the thought of needing and wanting somebody else so much that I dissappear. I’ve been there most of my life, and always trying to be seen. I am alone, and my home is inside me, and I am filled with memories of every tone, smell, and colour that a memory can have. My memories are filled with people that let me go, and that I let go of, of people that have harmed me and that I have harmed, people who cared about me and that I cared about, people I have worked for and with, my memories are filled with images that have made me sick and moved me to tears and laughter. It is all inside me, and in that way I’m never alone.

I applied for an internship in New York. I should find out next week if I’m going. I don’t feel attached either way. I just know that in September things will be different.


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