I have seen too many early early mornings from the insides of cars during the last couple weeks. that line from a talking heads song comes to mind: I'm tired of traveling, I want to be somewhere. it's all just been going, going, with the feeling of being nowhere. I feel like I got in a car on the twentieth of December and just got out yesterday. which was not exactly the case, but just to say: it was not exactly restful. here to minnesota to wisconsin to detroit (thanks, northwest airlines, for the illogical rerouting) to sf. then by car on winding highways all the way down to a former astronaut's house in an orange county gated community. and through the smog of mexicali to a frigid baja beach where I sat for days with a high school friend and former strangers, and with the man I love and am sometimes so puzzled by. it was colder than california and the stars were amazing. I left with sand in places that sand should never be.
I don't know if it's all the motion and the coming & going, or having just spent a lot of close time with people who were total strangers to me a year ago, or realizing the growing distance between me and where I've come from, but there is a churning kind of blank confusion in my head right now regarding the matter of how to conceive of myself. if asked to give a synopsis, I just wouldn't quite know what to say.
that seems somewhat like a problem.