Today I woke up early again. Not as early as yesterday, but I kept getting up every minute or so, convinced that I had overslept. Then I would crawl back into bed, fall asleep for a few seconds, and jolt back awake this time really convinced that I had completely missed work. But I didn’t.
And so, onto the rest of the day.
Today I got up early. 6:15. I got out of bed and went to the window and looked at the sky and it looked like fading ink. So I pulled myself up, put my hair in a pony tail, and got on my bike to take photographs of the river and the sky.
That’s all I feel like documenting. It was a good start to the day, but the best part of my day was my Skype conversation with Steele. He just makes me light up. I miss him.
Here is some found poetry, from the drafts section of my text messages. When I’m in the middle of writing one and someone texts me back, and I stop writing and then start a new one, my phone saves the unfinished draft.
I feel I
Oh and they close
You’re never gonna guess
Well we could do
Call me when the g
My favorite is “Call me when the g” I mean, doesn’t that just sound like that start of a great rap song? Hmm? I think yes. Also, anyone out there who is a One Tree Hill fan, who is also a Harry Potter fan, needs to watch this.
Here is a story from day 67, from my journal:
Tonight I was just standing on the Broadway Bridge. I was so high above the water. I turned around me and saw the sun setting the clouds on fire. I thought about all the beautiful things I had seen today. I thought about the ocean stretching out around me, waves licking the shore. I thought about the sky upside down. I thought about the burning clouds. I was standing there. I imagined just climbing the railing, letting myself fall off the bridge backwards. Not suicide but the freedom of being only on air, if only for a few seconds.
I imagined surfacing for oxygen. The current taking me, climbing out wet and the walk I would take back to my bike. I took a cell phone picture and sent it to Steele. I said, ‘I wish you were standing here with me.’ I decided that I would stand on the bridges whenever I was upset–the closest I can come to standing on air.
I got on my bike and rode down, then up, to Powell’s. And as I was walking up the steps to the Purple room, a girl glanced at the side braid hanging down the front of my shirt. I thought about this hair. I grow this hair, I buy this book, I scribble these words. I build up this person. I live inside this head. I make choice after choice, decide things, form opinions. I build this identity. But if you strip me raw, who am I? If you take everything away. My hair. My books. My camera. This pen, my words. Who am I? Who makes this, who decided this. How unthinkable, how impossible, to be sitting in this room with these strangers. To be so known, but to be such a stranger to them. We’re all really the center of our own universes.
August 19, 2012
Here is something from my journal from day 66:
I hate that I’l forget all the details of the past few days, the past few months, the last few years, my life. They’ll slip though my fingers. I wish I could pluck every beautiful, heartbroken, angry, wonderful moment like a jewel and put it in a box. I wish I could bottle the feeling of sitting by this gem of a river, this city filled with sparking lights, under this fading blue sky. Music pounding in my ears, my skirt flared out around me in a circle, my boots scruffed, my pen scribbling. I want to drink that potion later. I love, I love that I can be sitting on my couch, watching One Tree Hill, and begin to be filled with that feeling of unease, restlessness, disappointment. That I can feel those things and then, immediately, get on my bike and fly down the street and leave that girl behind on her couch. That in a few seconds, I can become this woman who has frizzy hair flying behind her, a bright yellow skirt falling around her bike seat, cutting in front of cars and racing to make it through yellow lights. I have the ability to give myself wings, and I hope I never forget that, at the very least.
August 18, 2012
Yesterday was so hot, it was hard to breathe. The air hit you and wrapped around you like a blanket when you stepped outside.
But the second half of the day held an event for the Crafted in Portland project that I’ve spent the summer working on. It was an awesome feeling being there and seeing it completely finished. It is insane to see so many people taking cell-phone pictures of something I worked so hard on.
There’s nothing necessarily beautiful about riding the Red line out to the airport. It’s not something you can photograph. It’s just an inner peace. You don’t have to worry about your stop coming up unexpectedly. You’re just there. Heading towards going away or towards someone you love coming back.