“Things that make me genuinely happy”
1. looking at the moon
2. waking up after a good night’s slumber
3. watching a leaf make its subtle descent from tree to earth
4. a patch of tiny, dainty daisies in the brilliant emerald grass
5. opening my mail box to find a friendly greeting from an old friend, family member, or lover
6. the twilit desert in the middle of now where Nevada
7. a good mix CD from someone I admire
8. nature — walking solo through this beautiful garden of life
9. seeing a dog splash about in the fountain, its owner’s affectionate eye upon it
10. curling up, in the sun, with a good book

As the date caveat implies, this was written a smidgeon over three years ago. What a lost, lonely, and confused girl I was. Still am, really. I suppose I should find it comforting, how scant the modifications to this list would be, were I asked to compile a new one right now.
No, I suppose that is comforting, though my initial instinct was to deem it “frightening.”
Consistency is a good thing. I must remember this.
What’s scary is, how radically different the palate of faces & smells & tactile experiences, of places & songs, names & ideas, triggered by this list, is from the palate that not only would trigger from but actually inspired this list as it stands.
Life is about connecting with people. I’ve always thought this. So why is it that the humans I hold so close, are ever only in my life for what feels like no amount of time? Granted, there are a few (a handful, if that) with whom, despite differences in space & time, I can still consider myself intimate. Even so, I can’t believe it’s been three years. Three years, 12 seasons, nine quarters, twenty-seven classes, a few numbers less than that in professors, I don’t know what I’m supposed to remember from all of this and what I’m supposed to have forgotten, my childhood demons seemed so real and inhibiting when I first migrated to this city, they seem like long forgotten dreams to me now, if that, I’ve done such a good job at repressing all of it, repressing after a year of lamenting, all I ever really wanted to do was relate to someone, connect to someone, I’m always so oblivious and never figure anything out till it’s three years too late, the past feels like it never happened, and that feels like a good thing, though I can’t bring myself to believe that it actually is, this blog makes no sense, it has no focus, I have no focus, I’ve always hated blogs that’s why I’m always deleting them, journaling is much better, I’m not attention seeking if I’m journaling but hey, that’s attention seeking in itself, why a leather bound journal, one asks, rather than a spiral bound notebook? public privacy that’s all anything is anymore connecting through announcing, building bonds through showmanship
it’s all pathetic really and I’m really not that depressed, I don’t think I am at least, just numb, I feel slightly numb, whenever I start living my life too healthfully this happens, I drink to be more manic and I smoke to self-destruct and lately I do neither of those things not really and I can barely hold a conversation and I’m in such a hurry to get from point A to point B, if I’m not ravenously hungry and thinking about dinner, I’m cold or tired and thinking about hot cocoa, and I still haven’t written anything of consequence and I love this time of year, kicking leaves is a favorite pass time, but I can’t stand the way this time of year makes me feel and that’s a fact.
why can’t I go home for Thanksgiving? What is Thanksgiving? What is home? Family? all of these things make no sense to me and maybe that’s why marriage has been so painfully on my mind. wow I just said that out loud & have a good night


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