Brains!

I flew alone to LA last night, leaving Humboldt County quickly, no slow death for me.

Past few weeks writings from oldest to most recent.

I’m at the Mad River today. The water looks like melted liquid malachite, gorgeous. It’s cold, running from the mountains. (Later I will walk by the mouth of the Mad at the beach, and wonder if the water is the same I swam in this day.) A breeze, not all together warm, sails through the ravine that the river has cut.

Colin drunk means many intriguing interrupted conversations on what me, what I want to do in life. The key here is me, not him. I leave here four days from now. For a while I was frightened, now I have an ache, but it’s old.

I’m reading “A Short History of Nearly Everything” by Bill Bryson.

Tonight was the first time I asked myself if I was still “in love” with James in almost two years. I’ve asked myself in passing, the way one might ask if oneself if they like breathing, the answer of course is yes. But this night the answer was different. The answer was unclear. I do not know if I love him the way a lover or a girlfriend loves someone, meaning I am loving him as a friend, as an ex. Now I find myself selfishly missing the comfort of another body, a male presence in my life. It’s strange how much we’re coded to want that so terribly.

It’s amazing how utterly lovely I actually feel at this moment. It’s entirely new to me, entirely frightening. Soft sounds of Humboldt county float in my window. I am pining. Dreary fall drizzle, tight arms and hundred pound blankets. The next moment I am surely to feel lonesome again. Ah! Here it comes now. I imagine dark woods, the moon covered up, no stars circling. Probably mumblings of anxiety, related to the decisions I have made. Decisions I thought could be altered if it came to it. But it seems the longer I leave them, the deeper the indent, eventually a hole will be gaping there. As I had predicted in my shelter, my shield, my chains only a few months back now, that if I wandered this other path alone, for too long, the distance between James’ and mine would grow too great. It has. In my limited experience I thought that it was impossible to let go of someone to the degree that I have let go of James, I gave myself the time and the parameters to do so, and it is just going on naturally.

“If I wasn’t with you, I would be a flight attendant”, spoken by large breasted, annoying voice of fellow plane passenger.

Good-bye Humboldt, I didn’t cry.

I’m working on my Chaco tan…I’ve turned into a Humboldt Count poser. I drove around LA today and already I am weary of it. At home in my old room I am strangely at ease, maybe I am numb.