I Asked How She Had Liked Living In New York. She Said,

I've Been Keeping Score.

I know this isn't exactly my blog style.

Or at least it hasn't been.

But my head is overflowing. And I don't have a friend I hate enough to call and make them listen to me go through this merry-go-round aloud. 

For the nineteenth time this week. For the one hundred and third time this month. For the one hundred and twenty second thousandth time in my life.

I don't know why I thought anything would be different. Why this time I would be able to stay on track. Or keep my eyes steady and not let the world, or a cloud, or a pastel color on the street distract me. But I guess I did.

I've been trying to reason with my brain. I've been talking  gently to my heart. I've been yelling at myself. 

I've been listening to melancholy songs on repeat. I've been forcing myself to sing louder than Aretha Franklin. I've been eating more than I should. 

I've been keeping score. 

I want to fly to a city where no one knows me and I can hide in a coffee shop and walk the streets alone.

I want to wear a skirt that makes it hard to walk in a crowded bookshop. And I want no one to look twice at it.

I want someone to tell me what to do. But I better like it.

I forget why I started typing this. It's not what I wanted it to be. It's turning out all wrong.

I'm too paralyzed to move.

I'm worried that if I keep going forward with the plan, everything I'm feeling now will get lost. 

And while part of me worries that I'll be unhappy, another part of me fears that I'll forget, and start being happy.

I'm worried that if I try to go back, it's going to be too hard. All over again. 

And so what.

So I'm scared. So things aren't perfect. So I'm unhappy. So I'm broke. So I'm clueless.

Who isn't. Who cares. 

I should just be happy. And enjoy the adventure. And see what happens. And welcome what comes.

But jesus.

Somehow I can't do anything to escape this. constant. constant. constant. 

It Seems Most Things Went Wrong.

Things I Like

Keep An Eye On Summer

I want each and every one of those bathing suits.

And for it to be 1956.

And for June to hurry up and get here.

That Is Unless Of Course

You're Audrey Hepburn.

In which case, everyone will remember you always.

And fall in love with you each and every time they see you.

And wish they could whisk you away to Rome to be with Gregory Peck forever and ever.

No One Will Remember You Anyway

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

Delran, NJ