Little cat, all confined to this room, close to midnight, a nap and then all the leaving. Coffeeshops that don't open until at least five escape me. I'm tortured and complete, all at once. I've spent so long second guessing everything that I'm doing / have done / want to do that it seems as though something is wrong with just being, doing, going, and no second guessing. It's like I'm forgetting something, or missing something.
Exhaustion. Packing and repacking, the filling of the car, the feast in my honor, a cake with my name. Friends who become faceless after not seeing them for so long, there's not enough space left on the tape to save for them, and I'll soon forget. The replacement of those friends with the ones who cared to stay. Laptop, the top of my lap, the typing loud enough to wake the whole house it seems, anxiety, bliss, and an ounce of dread. Maybe just for good measure.
Eyes crossing, heavy lids, painted toes, shaved legs, and next morning is the end of everything and the beginning of everything all at once. I pack my bags pre-flight, zero hour, five a.m., ears ringing, senses reeling, so far away from bursting at the seams from absorbing everything, about to be bursting at the seams from the prospect of absorbing everything.
Books. Love notes. Contact lenses. Engine coolant. Polaroids. Masking tape.