What Word Vomit Looks Like

It's been a while since I've written. I couldn't say why, outside of well, just living life.

But today a friend asked to be inside my head. After explaining to him my goals for the year and ambitions for life, he said he couldn't resist the curiosities of my internal processing. He wanted to know how I thought outside of the conventions of conversation. So I showed him my blog.

I started to read through some of my stuff. My pre-travel stuff, and it reminded me of how therapeutic it was for me. How healthy it was to get my thoughts out of my head, and my fears and feelings put into words.

A part of me forgot the dread I felt before leaving Toronto. The fear I lived with, the nightmares that haunted me almost every night. How often I'd cry at inappropriate times because I couldn't hold back the flooding in my mind.

I've been hiding, I think. Leaving Toronto gave me the anonymity I was starving for. The clean slate, the room to be who ever and how ever I wanted to be. It gave me the strength, the courage, the curiosity to find out who I was outside of that city.

It's to the point where I don't want to look back at her. I don't want to know that side of me. I can't stand that girl I was before. And so I don't want to look back to the places that created her.

I don't want to talk to the people that knew her. I don't want to think about the situations that marked her.

But why should I feel this way about that version of me? I made every effort to be the best person I could be, so why am I so quick to shun her?

Why am I so hard on myself? Jeez.

Why am I always so fucking deep.

For once I'd like to have a light hearted, easy going, nonchalant conversation, or even thought. Sometimes it's like there's no room for it in my brain, like there's no space for it in my heart. Sometimes the only way I can get out of my head is to get a song stuck in it. But even then, I end up analyzing the lyrics of the line or two that keeps on repeating between my ears, seeing if it applied to where I am in life.

Why do I feel like I've said these things already? This feels like a deja vu on repeat. I bet if I just read through my stuff a bit more I'd find it. Over and over and over again. These why's and how's and all these questions about myself I don't actually want answers to.

I gotta stop looking so far inward.

Outward, the world is daunting. It's frustrating and heartbreaking and confusing and impossible to solve. But it t's also beautiful and stupefying and ever changing and full of magic.

I wish I knew more.

I wish I could talk about politics, or world events, or had an opinion about GMOs or Justin Trudeau. I wish I knew a lot about music, or could play an instrument or cook really well.

Actually, I don't know about that last one. Today I read that "psychology says that women who can't cook are destined for success".. and I've always kind of believed that. The whole concept of "everything happens for a reason" applies, in the sense that, what's the reason I can't bake or cook? Because A) I'm meant to do other things and B) I will be with someone or will be able to afford someone to do it for me. Sound logic, right?

I wish I was good at talking to kids. I wish I could defend myself in a debate. I wish I knew where to get adderral. I wish I didn't want a cigarette right now. I wish I could turn this snackish hunger off and just wait til dinner.

I left the house today. The first time in almost 48 hours that I put pants on. It was great. If there's anything that feels like freedom, it's not having to put pants on for an extended period of time.

I went to the beach. I had every intention of swimming, but the day decided it had other plans for me. The water was choppy, constant waves from the tireless wind. So I decided to walk along the waters edge. As I walked, just in front of me a wave brought a bud of aloe onto shore. I picked it up, what a nice gift.

I kept walking and found a life guard, standing by some surf boards. I asked to use one, he said they weren't his, and couldn't let me take one. But encouraged me to go down the beach to where the wind surfers were. I walked down, only to stand and watch in awe as these people skimmed across the waves, cutting through them like whipped butter. Then, weightless, they'd be pulled into the air and glide, having time to do a trick and be placed back down lightly, as if gravity had no say in the matter.

I like kite surfing. I've never done it, but I like that there's two elements you're playing with. Water and wind.

Someone once said to me, the wind belongs to women. And I liked that idea, but today I thought, no, it belongs to kite surfers.

When I walked back down the beach I ran into my lifeguard friend again. We struck up conversation, and I stood there talking with him until the rain came down. If he is in fact my friend, he will be my first friend in this city. Sure, there's my cousin, and all her friends. But he is MY first friend here. So that's nice. Today I made a friend.

I know I haven't said anything really about my time with the band. There's so much to say, so many memories, and yet I can't bring myself to write them out. Unfortunately I feel like I've forgotten a lot, or maybe it's all just blurred together.

I will write something about it soon, I hope. There are things I can't say, and things I want to but have to make time for. It makes me sad to think about. But also, undeniably happy and giddy and grateful for the time I had with them. I almost don't want to write about it in the thought that it will just be obnoxiously happy and annoying. I don't know.

I gotta stop now. I wrote this out for me more than I did for you. I just needed to get it out.

I also gotta get back into the habit of using my phone and taking pictures. I have no pictures for any of this. A clip from google will have to do.

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