vanilla raindrops

email: noreia@planet-save.com.

This is my blogchalk:
United States, California, sometimes Steiermark, Austria, something bored teenagers say when they speak useless words into brick walls of cotton candy, English, German, Noreia,creative writing, fiction, reading, college student, strange, cat power, mogwai, arap strap, dresden dolls, white oleander, the earth, my butt, and other big, round things, welcome to the dollhouse, fuckers.

body jewelry by bodyPUNKS!

body jewelry by bodyPUNKS!

body jewelry by BodyPUNKS!

 

 from february 28, 2005; 8:04 pm

In this house of cloves and bones, I feel lonely, but I feel at home.  There with this quiet maturity growing, time is speeding up and slowing.  Empty walls, staking my claim with colors and drumbeats, my rhythm, my name.  Smoke and black fabric, cloves and bone -- I feel lonely; do I feel at home?

***

It's weird, not fully having a place.  Being all over the place, trying to, as I saw James Baldwin or one of his friends say on a video today, take "home" with me wherever I am, or else I'll be homeless.  It's starting to feel that way -- I'm starting to feel like Astrid in White Oleander, absorbing all these strange people with their so-unique mannerisms, but . . . adrift?

Back up a bit: I moved to the city.  The City.  So far, it seems I'm only there at night -- so much to do, with school and work every day, trying to keep up with homework.  It's quiet there most nights, everyone in their respective rooms, ambient music and herbal smoke, and my newly-painted purple and green walls with no pictures on them.  I sit in my room and try to get a lot of homework done, I should be getting a lot of homework done, but it's never enough, I'm always missing this assignment or that assignment, so I try to balance them out between classes.  I don't even know what I'm running on.  I fall asleep listening to professors lecture and pastors preach, watching videos, almost while driving. 

I drink a lot of tea, because it's something to do when I get home -- "home" -- it's a reason to stand around in the kitchen.  I played guitar the other night and I think they might have heard me. 

It's just so weird, so far.  Being there for only a few waking hours, usually only seeing the neighborhood in darkness.  I start to wonder why I'm spending money on this. 

But then I think of being back in my parents' house, and I don't really want that.  I don't really know if I have an opinion about it, but at least I don't miss it -- at least this is something interesting, if not exactly what I expected.  And it's only been a week.  And it is also only going to be for three months, because I'm leaving in the summer. 

And I'm young, and I need to experience different things.  Right?  So it's one day at a time, and the homework gives me a life-purpose; if not a meaningful one or one that I actually care about, at least a responsibility, something to do every day. 

But let there be more connection.  Let this quietness end, this sleep-deprived driving hundreds of miles, this state of awareness of my surroundings, inability to relax.  Let me sink into the house and own it, for the short while that I'm there -- get a beta fish and bring all my plants, play my music loudly and sit in the backyard and read, practice on Jeremy's poi, walk around the neighborhood.  Settle in.  Become friends with all of them.

My spike calls; I must answer; I miss her.

Posted by: noreia at 16:16 | link | comments |