journal #8 1/1/17

1/1/17, 12:18am, sitting on the steps outside an apartment on l—– ave

I am spending this new year’s walking around outside, listening to acid rap, coming down off of half a tab of acid, having just resolved my first family-like conflict with JH, stomach digesting a ratchet meal of Mexican food cobbled together of 89-cent canned refried beans, bulk sale sharp cheddar, tortillas confusingly sized in between a taco and a burrito, and guac made with far too much onion, scarfed down standing up in a shamelessly disgusting kitchen, smothering laughter in quiet camaraderie.

I have compromised with my brother and screamed “I AM A WILLOW” while he screamed “I AM A MAPLE” at the bottom of the countdown in that ratchet apartment, snorting characteristically ungracefully between the WILL- and the -OW and having it come out something more like I AM A WILL and perhaps that was more fitting in the first place: to plan to be a willow, reflective, lowing, graceful, but maybe ending up as a will — and maybe that’s ok.

And JH is skyping his girlfriend inside on the bed, and that’s real cute, but I am single, happily, refreshingly single, and instead I received long heartfelt texts from my best friends: from AM, YM, MH — at 9pm and so I am walking around at night, alone, listening to music, having left the comfort of the room to reflect and journal and listen to music and think; I am alone and exploring and free to roam and yet I know I have the support of friends so close they are family, more than family.

Last year, I also spent the night in the dark, on the sidewalk. I was home. I’d fought with my mother. Somehow I seem to always be fighting on new year’s — but this year, I resolved the fight. I think that’s important. I am walking around at night in peace with myself instead of in turmoil with others, and that — that is satisfying enough.

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