Taking Care of mySelf

I’m a bit worried about myself lately. I’m not one to be a hypochondriac, but suddenly I feel like… like I could be dying, or something. Or as though there’s something terrible inside of me that needs to be healed. I could sit here and hope that it’s all  metaphorical, but I’m not so sure this time. I have a doctor’s appointment in a couple weeks, so hopefully that will help me sort things out.

I might have simply overloaded my body, physically. I’ve spent the last 8 days at the gym, for about 2-3 hours a day. It has felt amazing, but then yesterday my body became a bit overwhelmed, and sort of shut down, and reacted strangely. But today it’s snowing outside, and I’m not going anywhere, so I’m going to take it easy.

I’m trying to be as patient as possible, waiting to see what’s around the next corner in my life, but at the same time I’m ready to run around haphazardly and find it myself. However, the way the situation stands, it is much more pragmatic for me to take deep breaths and wait to see what cards I have to play with.

There are a few things I know I need, however.

1. Environment. I need a better environment to live in. The certainly includes my living space, but also the community. I would love to find a place to live that has a good music/arts scene, as well as better weather, and more potential for growth, especially spiritual. Which for me, specifically, would be a place surrounded by beautiful opportunities to be with Nature.

2. Writing. I need to be able to write, and pursue this most important dream of mine. I need to really delve into the process of writing, publishing, marketing – the whole bit. There’s a whole world involved here, and I need to immerse myself in it.

3. Good people. I need to surround myself with really good people – authentic, hard-working people, who make me smile.

4. Panda. Panda has to be there, too.

So that doesn’t seem like too much to ask, eh? I can certainly find that. I’m just really tired of people’s misplaced priorities, repressed emotions, and layers of bitterness. I know there’s a better way to live – I’ve seen it, I’ve done it, and it’s what I want for my life. Even if that means I need to live in a small cabin on the outskirts of society, I’m okay with that. There is so much Joy and Beauty out there – I’m sick of being surrounded by people who couldn’t grasp those components if they were in front of their face. I want to live in a different way. I want to reject all that is currently at the forefront of American society.

However, things may be changing. They may have to, and I think that’s a good thing. Our economy is suffering, and that could bring forth a lot of much-needed changes. A shifting of priorities could be a very good thing.

Anyhow, today is my day of rest. So enough thinking about all that. Perhaps I’ll write a poem. Or brainstorm for a new book. 🙂

January 20, 2009

Barack Obama was inducted as the 44th President of the United States today.

I don’t have too much to say about that, but I thought it deserved mentioning.

In fact, I have about ten book’s worth of things to say about that, but this day has beat me down. I’ve been crying since I woke up. Mostly from incredulous joy and reawakened hope, but basically from every emotion known to induce tears.

It is a beautiful day. And the beauty of this day extends far past Mr. Obama himself – and he knows this, and he is humbled by this – and that very fact humbles me, as well.

Other than 9/11, this is the most important day in the history of my brief life, and upon reflection will hopefully mean more and more as the years progress.

Today, I don’t care what people have to say about the state of the economy or the emptiness of promises or the impossible standards people are holding the President to before he’s even begun. Today, I’m allowing myself to be moved by the words of a man with passion and integrity, and by the fact that this is real life, not a movie or a book. I can not recall the last person who has somehow managed to stir our souls the way Obama has. And this… THIS IS REAL.

A few minutes ago, I was watching Barack dance with his wife, Michelle, at the Neighborhood Ball. Beyonce was singing “At Last,” and Obama was holding his wife, and they were dancing, and everyone was crying, and all I could think was how humbling the entire experience must be. For example – here is Beyonce, looking all gorgeous and being all famous, and yet that moment was probably one of the most profound and humbling experiences of her entire life. In that moment, she was just a singer, offering her gift to the President and his wife, so they could dance together and begin this incredible journey.

I think it’s time the nation possessed a little poetry. And today, I heard poetry. Today, I felt stirred to believe in something again. Regardless of all the realities we face, regardless of all the complex issues to come… today, was a beautiful day.

Today was poetry.

Welcoming the New Year

The New Year was hailed with TEFL (Teaching English as a Foreign Language) Grammar modules, and a couple movies at the picture theater. 🙂 Overall, a good choice.

I was excited to bring in the new year with a new educational pursuit, the TEFL certification. By April 2009, I will be certified to teach English as a Foreign Language (and therefore trained to take working abroad positions, or certain other ESL jobs). It’s exciting to think about all there is to learn in this world, and how many more years I (hopefully) have to expand my knowledge and abilities.

I have also been scouring one of my Christmas presents, Poet’s Market 2009, and making a list of all the awards and contests I want to submit my writing to. I figure it’s about time I start to put myself out there, and make a name for myself. I was starting to get an online following, and then sort of let it go. However, I want to put effort back into my poetry and prose, and pursue the dreams that truly matter to me.

I received a letter of receipt from Harlequin, Mills, & Boon, which was very… anxiety-producing, since at first I thought it was a rejection letter. So… it’s good that it’s not! Haha. They gave me a reference number, and thanked me for submitting “Keeping Pace” which was pretty nice to see the title of my book on a letter with a Harlequin letterhead. 🙂 Guess I’ll just keep editing and working, working for the Dream.

Overall, things are changing. They’re shifting and altering, and I’m ready for the turning point. I can sense something around the corner; something exciting and a little crazy, and something that I want very much.  I’m ready to choose an opportunity, and continue this process of unfolding, and Living.


Well, the big news in my life right now is that I submitted my book to Harlequin. Harlequin Historicals are currently accepting open submissions (I don’t need to be agented) along with the first three chapters. This implies that they must be looking for new authors… and it implies that I have a chance at moving forward with my dream. Even if I get rejected, this whole process has really opened my eyes. I want to write. More than anything in this world, I want to write.

And I need to write. If I don’t, I know my life will seem unfulfilled, and without purpose. God has bestowed the talent of beautiful words, and beautiful thoughts, in me, and I must translate them into the world, and make it (even slightly) a better place.

Christmas was enjoyable. I worked every day before and after it, but the day itself was very nice, as well as Christmas Eve at the Helbig’s the night before. It was nice to spend Christmas in Charlton with the family; it was warm and cozy and everyone basically got along. I’m shocked by the actions and words of my brother, though, who has somehow grown into a very selfish and superficial person… which I truly didn’t anticipate happening. But there it is. Sadly, he was one of the reasons I wanted to stay in Massachusetts, but now that reason has been taken from me, as well. I wanted as far from him as possible the other day. I’m saddened… saddened by who he is, and by how blind I was to think it wasn’t happening.

Well, big changes are in the works. I’m sure I’ll be back on to write my “End of 2008” blog entry, but for now, I’ll just say: Change is on the way. I’m half-terrified, half-excited by this prospect, but regardless, I know it must happen.

I haven’t come this far to stop now.

moderation misuse

I have the nagging suspicion that the coming month will pass with a blur.

I have done it again: lacked the patience to practice moderation, and inundated myself with life.

My days include full-time substitute English teaching (including Macbeth), 16+ hours of  sales representation at the Holyoke Mall on the weekends, finishing, editing,  and submitting my historical romance, Tupperware consulting, going to the gym, and acting in a play.

Whereas, three weeks ago I was sleeping in until noon and working one day a week… at best.

It’s called moderation, and I have apparently yet to master it.

This is good, though. Within the course of six weeks, I will have miraculously (okay, painfully) restocked my bank account, and as much as I sometimes refuse to believe it, money is good. In this case, money will allow me choices – it will allow me to step back and consider my options – perhaps move, perhaps stay, perhaps travel a bit more. Who knows. All I know is that I’m keeping my mind too busy (or too tired) to get very existential.

Of course, today as I was driving with Mom back home from work, I was sitting there wondering how people can just wake up and drive places and do things and not realize everything is completely pointless.

Other than those occasional thoughts, I’m perfectly content. 🙂

So yeah. Just a brief update. I’m feeling a bit lonely again (first time in a while). Mostly I miss the warmth of someone I care about beside me… and the ability to cuddle into them and breathe.

the choice to heal

The last few weeks have been hard. They have been painful, and they have been enlightening.

I spent about an hour of my life yesterday sobbing. It started with the typical girly frustration over finding something to wear, and quickly deteriorated into the disillusionment of my dreams and the invalidation of my soul.

I am accused, quite often, of being too emotional. However, the past year I have more than once been concerned with my lack of feeling, my newfound ability to become numb. Yet still, I am accused of being too emotional. Of ‘taking life too seriously,’ ‘thinking too much’, and my favorite – being ‘crazy.’

I refuse to see how it is crazy to look around at the world and want more – to expect more from people. It is not crazy for me to refuse to have my life determined by other people’s values and other people’s expectations. I respect everyone else’s decisions, and yet, somehow, my every breath becomes belittled and questioned for its sanity.

I should clarify, because I by no means intend to generalize here, or refer to everyone in my life. I am referring to the closest people – to the members of my world that are vital and very powerful in my life. Some people’s advice on this is I should simply remove these people from my life. However, family is a very important value to me, and I have fought this long to keep mine relatively intact.

On the other hand, I am finding it hard to breathe.

Each day I am attacked, in various ways, and then accused of being sensitive or paranoid. I am invalidated in ways I never could have imagined another person could make me feel. Perhaps it is true – perhaps I am sensitive, but in that case I do not understand how some people get treated with respect, regardless of their ‘sensitivities,’ while others are not.

I am a giver. I give of myself, with unending grace and understanding. This is a quality that is very important to me, and I want to continue to be a person who assists others in opening their eyes to beauty, and giving themselves chances to live more fully, more authentically.

But I am disheartened. And if I shared my feelings with anyone to which I refer, they would merely tell me that I am not well, I am depressed, and that I need help. However, I am not depressed, and I do not need help. In fact, never before have I realized the true potential of my Self – of the fluidity in which people may effect the world if they merely take the effort to stand. I am aware more than ever of my gifts, and my passion, and of the goodness that is laying latent within the earth. So I am not depressed – but I am disheartened.

Disheartened more than anything that the people in my life all hate each other (and sometimes me) almost as much as they hate themselves.

Perhaps hate is a strong word. Perhaps I mean they have merely become all too comfortable in their bitterness and negativity (but let’s all call it being ‘realistic’ since it makes us feel like we’ve grown up, rather than given up.)

And I am disheartened that I have to edit my thoughts and my feelings, because they will never be accepted, or understood, by the people that truly matter to me. Disheartened that the previous paragraphs will probably get me accused of being everything I aforementioned. Because they are provocative, and they are honest, and they are far too Real for anyone in my life to deal with.

In the end, I am disheartened by my environment; it is quite obviously not one in which I can fly – I am barely allowed to glimpse at the sky without being called a tree-hugging, over-emotional dimwit. It has become terribly apparent to me that my choices are dwindling, and I may have to leave. As much as I like my home, my New England, and I feel comfortable here, I am realizing that perhaps God does not wish for me to be comfortable. Every time I have found a modicum of comfort, happiness, and peace in Massachusetts, life has brought me pain too palpable to ignore.

Great choices are made when we are uncomfortable – when our discomfort and our pain force us to find a new path, one in which we can breathe, and grow.

So perhaps I have to ask my pain what it wants from me. I think perhaps I have just repeatedly bandaged myself up, and then wondered why I still find myself bleeding all over the ground. I have covered and recovered a wound, without healing it from within.

I have reached a point where I either learn to become numb to the pain, or I make the choices necessary to heal.

For I know, deep down, that only then… when I heal… do I have the opportunity to do something truly great, truly grace-full… truly holy… with my life.

But I have no idea whether I will be strong enough to take the bandage off the bleeding wound.


I just realized a few crucial things.

First of all, I barely know anybody who is happy. And I don’t even mean ‘truly’ happy – I mean happy in any form of the word. I mean mediocre happy. I barely know anybody who is mediocrally happy.

Secondly, the crucial people in my life want me to surrender. They want me to SURRENDER. They want me to surrender myself. My values. My dreams. My authenticity.

Thirdly, people are asleep. They are blind, and they prefer to be blind, because it’s safe that way. And if they stay that way, they never have to pay attention to my first point: that they are not even mediocre.

I could keep numbering my points, but I’m finding that terribly annoying.

In my head I’m thinking quotes like “rage against the machine” and “rat in a cage.”. I’m feeling trapped in a box that for some reason people are determined to keep me in.

Why? Why are people so AFRAID OF ME? Why do my ideas cause them such agitation, make them so uneasy? Why are my values and beliefs worth fighting with me over, and yet other people can be addicted to substances and money and sex, and that’s OKAY? That’s healthy. That’s normal. Would such “normalcy” in me actually placate these key figures in my life? Would they then desist, saying “She has a complete lack of respect for herself, and has traded dreams for reality – thank GOD.”

It all makes me sick. I don’t understand how people can live lives of such quiet desperation, and not do anything about it. And then EXPECT ME to do the same.

I’m ranting. And I’m angry.

I’m never angry.

But there are things to be angry about.

There are things we should simply not accept.

Random, and basically pointless.

For some reason, I had plenty of things I wanted to say yesterday, but not so much today. Hm. Guess that’s not really conducive to posting a new blog entry.

First of all, I’m back in the theater. I auditioned for a role in Alan Ayckbourn’s play, Woman In Mind. It’s being directed by Matt Carr, who is someone I truly respect and have always wanted to work with, as an actor. The best part is I landed the role I really wanted to get – the part of Muriel, the older, snippy (okay bitchy), somewhat deranged sister-in-law. So I’m really excited about the whole thing. It already feels great to be involved in the theater again.

I’ve also had existential crisis after existential crisis. I think I’ve calmed down a little, but I’m truly starting to grasp what Mr. Robbins meant when he warns his classes “Don’t start to think – it’ll ruin your life.”

Yes yes. Other than that… I’m just editing my historical romance like crazy, getting it primed for beauteous publication…!! I suppose I should start querying publishers….

Writing Fever

I haven’t posted in a while. I really had no idea what to say. Things have been happening, and my mind has been working overtime, but not coherently enough for me to manage a blog entry without sounding crazy. Yet I wonder if I ever really, truly, manage that!

I’ve started the novel for November – I have over 20,000 words. I’m basically pulling from my old entries here, and then re-writing them in a different tense, and often in a different way, to make it more descriptive.

However, as I was cleaning my room these past few days (weeks) in a desperate attempt to throw away ANYTHING that didn’t represent the future I want for myself, and the present person I am, I found something delightful. I found my Word Document of the book I wrote a few years back, Keeping Pace! I started this thing when I was 13, and finally finished at age 20. I submitted it to Harlequin, was rejected, and then the next thing I knew I was graduating college and starting my masters and getting my heart broken, and suddenly it got put to the side. And when I wanted to do something with it again, I realize that I had completely lost the computer copy of it – all I had was 341 pages in my hands, and no one really wants to retype 341 pages.

I had finally resolved myself to edit the hard copy, and retype the million (341) pages, when then I started my memoir and became excited about writing again. I also started putting together a publishable collection of poetry, so I would start taking that seriously, as well. The next thing I know, I found an unmarked CD, pupped it in the Macbook, and tada!! There was a folder entitled “Keeping Pace.” I literally couldn’t breathe for a few minutes when that Word document opened and it was all there.

So now I have three books in the works. All that need either some major writing or editing done, but books, nonetheless. NOW is the time for me to put all my effort into this – because what else do I have going for me? I’ve applied for a job, and I work on Saturdays for Sandisk, but other than that I lounge about and then go to the gym for a few hours. Which is all well and good, but if I could replace some of that lounging with editing, marketing, and eventually publishing my work – well then. Well then, my life could be brand new, and be more in line with the dreams I have always had for myself. 🙂

November: Novel-writing Month!

I know very little about it, but I do know that November is supposed to be the month to write a book. A book in 30 days. I was supposed to motivate myself enough last year to do it, but I didn’t. So here I am, determined. This November is wide open to me – a huge blank canvas to fill with whatever I wish. Nothing makes more sense than to do this.

I started writing about 40 minutes ago – so it has begun! The idea is this: a memoir. I am going to take my blogs from here, starting with the very first one, entitled “Wanderlust” and copy and paste a couple at a time into a new Word document. From there, I will fill in all the many, many blanks of my Americana roadtrip. I want a true, descriptive memoir of my travels across America, and now is the time to do that, for I know eventually the memories will start to fade. I’m nervous – about how much I will remember (or forget) and even about the accuracy of my accounts, but at the same time, I’m excited. I know what I did this past summer was exciting and brave, and that is something I need to share with the world. I need to let others know that it is never too late, or too hard, to change the course of your life, or to heed those secret whispers of your soul.

So wish me luck! I will try to keep you updated as best as possible – I only hope that I stick to a semi-strict schedule of writing each and every day, in order to have a rough draft of a full memoir completed by the end of the month. 🙂 I can do this… I can I can.

My 100th Post

When I started this blog, I never thought I would make it to my 100th post, especially within only a few months, but here it is. I also never thought, when I started this blog, that it would veer so far away from what I originally wanted it to be.

I had a great talk with Jess Ralph the other day (it was also a comforting talk, since she called right after I found out that Spazzy had passed) and she spoke to me about my need to be creative. She commented on the fact that she had hoped my blog would be more than just a way to stay in touch with family and friends while I traveled. However, it quickly (and understandably) became that way while I was on the road. Which is fine, and I love what I have done here, but at the same time I know I have more to offer.

For example, whenever I start to talk about philosophy or existential concepts or even my personal ponderings, I always apologize for what I’m about to say. Assuming that people will either think me crazy, or be bored with my ramblings. However, as Jess pointed out to me, that is exactly the stuff the she thinks I should be sharing. In fact, she was incredibly kind about it, and even said that something about my “wonderful thoughts” being put to the page – those feelings and thoughts I always have, and yet never grasp tightly enough to truly make concrete.

So in that light, I will be creating a new wordpress blog (currently not present), in which I will offer no apologies, and write from my soul rather than my just my fingers. And perhaps this will lead to memoirs and essays worthy of something more than just a blog, and I will finally start to put together the book that is begging to be written.

Thank you for taking this journey with me these past few months. It has been unbelievable, and utterly life-changing. I will continue to use this blog for my meanderings and my travels. For I hope to never cease traveling this world.

Spaz: in memoriam

My beautiful cat, Spaz, died today.

She was already nearing the end of her life, but no matter how one prepares for such an event, the moment is always too near. She was run over by a truck, which at first struck me harshly, but later I realized this was probably for the best. As my grandpa said, “She didn’t know what hit her,” and as much as his ill-timed humor made me roll my eyes, it’s the truth. Her death was probably quick, whereas old age would have started to hurt more and more as the days went by.

The other evening, I felt the pressure of her laying upon my legs while I was in bed. I was at my mothers; she lives at my father’s house. It was probably this moment that prepared me for the call from Joel today, telling me she had passed. I felt her presence all around me these past couple weeks. Last Friday, I found her sitting beneath some shrubbery, laying resplendently in a pile of autumn leaves. The sun filtered through the branches, and shone on her. She looked lovely, and I captured this moment with a photograph.

So you see, I was well aware her time was coming. And I will let her go as gracefully as I can.

She was such a bitch. From the moment I picked her – at the local animal shelter. All the kittens were laying on top of each other in big balls of furry fluff, but not Spaz. She was maniacally climbing the sides of the cage, meowing as loud as her little lungs would allow her. I knew she was mine from that moment.

Since then, she only responded and showed affection to me (except later on she bestowed such kindness to my Grandpa – who could resist him?) and we had a gentle and wondrous bond. I truly felt that she understood me, and would often give her instructions out loud in English, and she would listen. Every night for years on end she lay on me, either curled upon me, or right upon my legs. I couldn’t move, and the nights weren’t always the most comfortable, but I didn’t care, because we loved each other. I joked every day about her being a bitch, but I do the same with Panda, so perhaps it’s my deranged way of saying I love you.

I’m going to miss Spazzy. She helped me through so much. She helped me through my parent’s divorce and it’s aftereffects. She helped me through my move from my mother’s to my father’s, when life was a mess and I could barely breathe from the pain. She sat with me as I sobbed when a boy continuously broke my heart. She meowed for me when she missed me, she ate the little cat treats I sprinkled across the floor, and she sat outside in the upstairs window, meowing incessantly until I let her in.

I will never forget the gentle pressure of her upon me. Nothing was more comforting than to have her there, purring with joy, loving me in that non-judgmental, unconditional love that only a beloved pet can give. I am without that kind of love in this world now, and that breaks my heart a little. However, Spaz has returned to  that place from which we all originate – the gentle and powerful embrace of the earth. And I will find her there one day, and she will once again meow and purr with joy. Her spirit was strong, and she added to this world with her strength, spunk, and her love. We are without her now, but I will adore her forever.

My beautiful, beautiful Spazzy.

Autumn’s Awareness

I shouldn’t be writing in this blog. I should be writing. Creatively. I should be writing creatively.

I am aware that any writing is better than no writing, but I still feel guilty that I’m not putting my creative powers to better use. The other morning, while packing up merchandise for his and Lizzie’s California tour, Baba told me that Lizzie wakes up every morning around 5:30. TO WRITE. That is dedication, passion, and respect for her art, and I know fully well, as I have for months now, that it’s exactly what I need to do. I need to put the pen to paper, and write. And not about my feelings or my whinings or my day – but from the clandestine, beautiful recesses of my Soul.

Currently Dharma Dog is laying by my feet, snoozing. Which is far better than crying, which is basically what he did througout the entirety of last night. It reminded me of a babysitting job I had years ago where the little boy wouldn’t fall asleep and kept crying hysterically, and we both ended up on the floor crying and desperate. I think I got about an hour of sleep last night, since I also randomly became sick in the middle of the night. All of this led to me calling out of work, which is ridiculous since it was my first day of work in about six months. Which is terrible. But also sort of amazing. Haha.

I’m dog-sitting Dharma for the next week and a half, while Lizzie West and Baba are out in California helping to change and re-awaken the world. I was honored to have a wonderful night with everyone a couple days ago, where we made dinner and shared music, and Lizzie sat down and read the synopsis of her book to us. The following morning, I drove Cam (their fellow musician and friend) to the airport. It is absolutely refreshing to be around people who are so alive, and authentic, and using their voices to inspire change and Beauty. I am so grateful to have such wonderful people newly in my life, proving that even the smallest of moments can change the course of our steps on this earth.

I am already feeling terribly stifled here in Massachusetts. There is much negativity in this house, with my mother, and as much as I love her, I am afraid her home is not conducive to my newly-awakened Self. I am attempting to create an effective open dialogue with her, in the hopes that no drastic decisions need to be made, but I am simultaneously aware that I can not and will not return to the desperation of my life six months ago. To have traveled for the last six months in vain would be a travesty, and I therefore will take the lessons I have learned, and the windows of fresh air I have opened, and continue to breathe deeply of this life.

Nick & Norah’s Infinite Playlist

Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist is certainly a movie I will return to again, much like The Breakfast Club or High Fidelity. Similar in context and mood, Nick and Norah brings us back to a time when movies were more than just cheap thrills and bawdy humor – they were a representation of the time, of its subcultures, and the intricate interplay of personal relationships within that time and culture. I was consistently impressed with the acting, the music, and the natural flow of the entire picture.

Certain reviews have claimed this movie to be a letdown compared to the highly praised Juno, but in fact I found the contrary to be true. In comparison to Juno’s forced quirkiness and slight pretentiousness, Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist was a breath of fresh air.

Michael Cera is someone I’ve watched from the corner of my eye, not totally convinced he was the real deal, but this movie, and his role as Nick, makes it official for me: he’s a great actor – both dynamic and adorable. He’s basically the John Cusack for the younger generation (so I guess I’ll just have to keep my feet in both those pools).

Kat Dennings as Norah was a perfect fit. I found her character to be well developed and believable. She has both a 50’s pin-up girl beauty to her that is quite fascinating, whilst simultaneously carrying a girl-next-door quality along with it.

I’d also like to add that my mother considered Ali Graynor (who played Norah’s best friend, Caroline) to be the best drunk she’s ever seen on screen. Not sure how that relates to anything, but thought I’d add it since my mom wouldn’t shut up about it. Hm. Not sure what that says about my mom.

Overall, Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist is worth the trip to the theater, especially since I officially believe again in whimsy, inspiring music, ridiculously fun frienships, and the fresh awakenings of new love.

Starving in Vermont

I can’t stop eating. I know part of it is the fact that I have food available to me, while for the last month or so it was a foraging scavenger hunt throughout Europe. But it’s an unnatural need to eat – as though I am starving, when I know I am not.  Yet, I feel hungry; I feel ravenous.

Sadly, I think it’s one of those times where the analogy is obvious: I am starving. I am starving for something, hungry for something… something more.  Here I am, back in the States, and quite obviously mourning the loss of Ireland and everything it meant to me. It meant opportunity – for my words, for the landscape, for love. I came so close to understanding – I almost touched Peace, and then I had to leave. So I feel restless and needy, and so I eat.

I’m also in Vermont right now, which is another situation for me, since this is another place I believe I could be happy. However, I don’t think I could move up to the house, since I find it so hard to be alone here, which is very confusing for me. I have never found it hard to be alone anywhere– other than this house on Lake Parker. Crazy.

I feel as though I’m rambling, but there’s not much I can do about it.

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