California Dreaming
Previous - this entry written on March 19, 2006 at 12:28 pm - Next the previous entry still stands but if I don't write some more I'm gonna burst into tears and I don't know why. I feel like shit, like crap, like this little lump of nothing pleasant that I don't want to think about, don't want to look at, don't want to BE.

Vicodin withdrawals. PMS. Seizure twitchies. Allergic reactions. People I care about having bad days and me being able to do jack about it. Out of touch, out of contact, out of my mind with worry again and apathetic at the same time, there's nothing left inside this rattlecage skull but a few old song lyrics and memories of a town I wish I could return to. Portland is calling loud today, I wanna sit by the waterfront and just stare at nothing for an hour, ride the MAX back and forth with headphones on, curl up in a corner of the downtown library or see if Saturday Market exists yet. I wanna see people in grunge, I wanna shoplift from Godiva, I wanna pet cats and smell coffee and taste rain and goddammit, I want to be something I'm not, today.

I want to be the nice normal girl.

I want the ones I love, the ones I trust, the ones I care about, to all be with me in Portland. I want us to be lazing around waiting for a bus to take us out to the other side of town, to watch some second-run movie in a run-down little movie house, I want everyone talking and laughing and then falling silent, long moments where no one says anything but we're all connected anyway. I want no husband, no lovers, no pets, no slaves, no boyfriends, no girlfriends, I want just friends. All of us, together. Eternity in a moment, one perfect day when even the things that go wrong are funny, when we end up eating indian food and beer we can't pronounce, when the rain soaks into sweatshirts and short hair, when there's boots on the pavement and kisses that mean nothing but 'hi, I'm here'.

I want to be twenty again. I want to be eighteen again. I want to be five again. I want to curl up and dream today away, I want the bliss of an opiate high or the simple humor of a pot buzz or the wobbly laughs of a tipsy glow or just the perfect soulful rush of having friends and no reason to rush, nothing wrong, everyone there.

Oh chariot, your golden waves are walking down upon this place... I want all of the little fragments of memory to come together. I want to know that those I need need me, and that we are all together, safely there, needs supplied, wants granted, strength in numbers and nothing else in the world but our crew, me and you and us.

I want to be normal.

I want to be me.

I want...

...I want to never have to write entries like this again.

I'm gonna go now.

I miss you guys.

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