I recently came across a journal from 3 years ago. I read the thing cover to cover, crying at a lot of the parts, smiling hugely at others. 3 years ago I moved into this apartment and I was so ready for it. Over the course of the writing in the journal I decide I want a new apartment, I find this one, I move in and I paint it blue and prange. In-between the finding and moving and painting I had my heart broken and then began to pick up the pieces. B makes a heavy appearance towards the end of the journal, swooping in to save the day with movies and beer and the beginning of his phenomenal friendship. I wonder what kind of crazy state of mind I was in back then. In the journal I write how strange it is to have a man be nice to me, how unused to it I am and how much I love it. I still love it.
Writing some. National Poetry Month is coming up and I'm considering writing a poem a day again. We'll see. Maybe. I wrote about 20 last year and the full 30 the year before. I should do it, the practice is good.
I was planning on going to Mexico this week but couldn't afford it. I need a trip, something soon, something quiet and beautiful.