05/21/21: I’ll be in Chicago, who knows where you’ll be

I’m getting jumpy. I’m getting tired of this place. I’m getting tired of this body. It’s so heavy and it hurts a lot, I wish I could trade it in for a newer model. Or one that’s a little lighter. Or one that’s not a body. Maybe I’d like to be a ghost, though I’ll be the first one to admit that I’d be driven mad in isolation, as I was conditioned to seek outside approval. Even knowing that the only approval that really matters comes from within *hits blunt* I still want people to like me.

I hope this thing with Madison works out. Eric and I are going to move in with her on the grounds that she kicks out her two roommates and cleans the place spotless. One of the roommates has a dog that shits on the floor, and the other is her 3 year-old boyfriend. He’s really like 24, but I guess he doesn’t clean up after himself. Debbi says that he’s a good guy, but Madison gets bored and then nitpicky until she convinces herself that she doesn’t want to be with X boyfriend and leaves them.

That’s sorta what I did with Kyla. There wasn’t anything wrong with her per se, I just got bored and couldn’t see a future with her. She was the most stable person I have ever been with, but she wasn’t a creative (though a very talented artist, she wasn’t inspired and really only drew faces). I’ll never date a non-creative again. That’s like one of the two reasons I choose to still be alive: if I don’t vomit through my hands and make something at least every few days I get mad depressed, and people can be fun sometimes which stokes the fire.

Anyway, if we move in with Madison, her lease is up in 6 months, which means I’m only tied down for 6 months. After this, I want to pack all my stuff in my car and run away again. This time I’m thinking somewhere on the east coast. I’ve always wanted to visit there, so maybe living there for a few months would be fun. I could rent a room with someone who definitely is not a serial killer, and work a shitty job. I’ve figured out long ago that money won’t make me happy, so I don’t stress about being 22 years old with no career or path toward one. I’ll work at subway if it makes me happy. The only times I really feel happy are when I’m flying and fucking. Also basically every second I spend with Serenity. Her eyes look through me to the wax candle in my chest and when I’m with her I get to take all my faces off.

I want to live while I’m young, like all the songs say. Maybe I’ll spend 10 years living in a city for six months and then hopping to another city. Fuck around fuck around. I’m nowhere ready to settle anywhere, and even the thought of signing a lease for a year is terrifying. The old addage “you can’t outrun your problems” is swimming around in my head, except it’s a gentle Koi fish. I don’t think this is running away from my problems. I think maybe I’m running toward something. I might never find it, because I feel I haven’t come close. I’m not happy (though in fairness happiness is fleeting, like a high you find yourself in a situation where you’re happy, but you need to keep taking hits to maintain it). I just want the average to raise up a little bit. Maybe I need pills, or a new hobby or something. I feel good when I create, but I end up hating everything I make a day later and I even get bored of that. The answer isn’t in books, and I’m getting bored of those too.

You (no, not you) started life on a small raft and found floating debris to expand the raft and create a cruise liner or else some other type of useful boat, I started gasping for air and though I’ve learned to swim quite well, I’m still wet all the time.

I think I’ll throw a dart at a globe maybe. That’s rich people shit, so I’ll define my area to eastern United States.

Edit: I think I’ll move to Baltimore. The name is cool.

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