it’s 6:25am and dark out. this morning i was having a dream where i was on some world tour and i had just brought some gnocchi back to port angeles from italy (like hot, i kept trying to eat it) and my parents were going to take me to jackass for a surprise but they forgot me at home and i was walking around port angeles with no money and then i woke-up to the sound of the bathroom fan. for some reason that sound was too much for me and i got that jabbing dark-morning-loneliness-loss feeling so hard that i almost couldn’t breath and all i could do was start counting and hope it would go away.
it’s weird how sometimes i feel great and sometimes i feel not great and it doesn’t matter that context. like even when pete and i lived together i would sometimes wake-up crying. then maybe it was about the future and now it is about the past. why is it so fucking hard to live in the moment? when the moment is good you just think, “no way this is lasting,” and when it’s bad it seems like that’s eternity and all the great and little things like someone getting out of the shower and you knowing who they were and really liking them and that you will see them soon are like something dangerous. grenades or shrapnel or rattlesnakes.