"Everything turned on the word "we," a synonym for love, the thing that saves us all."

"My own apartment was uneven, overfull, raggedy in patches, but it grew around me organically, by accretion, like the shell of a chambered nautilus. I loved it and everything in it - loved every specific item with a specific love."

"she felt like my mother in way my real one never did. There's too much to tell about her and not enough. As I described her to Martin, my descriptions struck me as ordinary and flat, even cliched, and Mrs. Goldburg and the feelings I had for her were none of these things."

"Clare concentrated on the words, trying hard to press them into her memory and wishing they were solid objects that she could keep and carry around with her."

"When Clare talked about Cornelia and Teo, the love was obvious. They were people who belonged to her."

It would have been easier if it didn't involve you. It would have been easier if it wasn't your team; if you didn't know every girl, every face, every move. It would have been easier if you hadn't been sitting behind me, if I didn't hate that you were sitting behind me. It would have been easier if I didn't have to think about what you would have done, what you would have wanted, if I could have just reacted, just been me. It would have been easier if I didn't know what you were thinking, if I didn't know when you disagreed with something I did or didn't do, if I didn't know that you could have and would have done it better. It would have been easier if you hadn't been so worried about me, if you hadn't apologized, if you hadn't tried to help. It would have been easier if every single one of your kind acts hadn't made me doubt that you believed in me, hadn't made my heart break just a little. It would have been easier if I could have said no, if the decision to come had actually been a decision, a choice, but we both know I wouldn't say no, I couldn't. It would have been easier if this didn't mean so much to me, if my failure didn't mean your disappointment. It would have been easier if this weekend and these feelings wouldn't have such an impact, couldn't make me question the few things I thought I was sure of. It would have been easier if I didn't love it just as much as I hated it. It would have been easier if it didn't involve you, any of you.

Tiny parts of me keep falling apart. Sitting on my couch reading I couldn't tell you why I started to cry. I have no idea what set me off, this time or any of the others. But, as much as I hate to cry, these random breaks are moments of relief. They release some of the tightness in my chest, they silence some of the thoughts in my head.


The only problem, they leave just as quickly as they come. They simply aren't enough. What I need is to break, I've been waiting to break. To fall apart, to shatter into a million little pieces. It's easier to rebuild from scratch. Better to release every emotion, every tear, all of my energy in one moment, one awful and amazing moment.


I can't choke down the tears I don't know are coming and I can't hide the cracks I don't know are there. So, I'd like to make myself break down. I'd like all the dramatics to be over, because once I get this out I will move on.


I will get over myself. promise.

We say thank you multiple times a day, or at least we're supposed to. We say thank you to the man who opens a door for us, the barista who makes our coffee, the postal worker who delivers our package, our co-workers who answer our questions and help us with our projects. We thank people for gifts, for kind words, for thinking of us, for helping us. We thank our friends and our families.

But is the thank you I say to strangers the same thank you I say to my friends or family? It's not the same to me, but its the same two words, the same definition. How can you use the same expression to show appreciation for someone passing the salt and for someone who shows up when you need them most?

I just worry that the common use of thanks somehow diminishes the meaning, that if I thank you for buying me coffee it won't mean as much when I thank you for the more important things, for the things that I actually need from you.

I like my new apartment. I think I picked the right one, it feels right, feels like it could be home. Filled with my stuff, my memories, it could work. I like having a place to myself. A place to blast my music, display the things I love, cry without an audience, invite friends to visit, sit quietly, escape. It’s taking some time to set it up right, but it’ll get there; with some more money spent and some more time to adjust, it’ll fit.

But, putting everything out, decorating, hanging pictures, throwing out boxes... it's too permanent and I need this to be temporary, to feel temporary. I don't want to commit, because if I commit, then maybe I won't leave? Maybe I'll get caught up, maybe I'll get attached. I liked my plan, but now that it's time to live it, time to follow through with step one, year one, I'm not so sure. I'm not so sure I'll stick to the plan. I’m not so sure that this was a good idea.

“You’re going to be unhappy for a while. This new place, new job, etc, it’ll be stressful and at first you won’t like it. But this is something you picked. So you’ll deal, not all of life is happy”

But shouldn't it be? If you can be happy, shouldn't you be?

You’re right that I picked this, and you’re right that I probably won’t be happy for a while. But, you’re also wrong, or maybe you’re not wrong, maybe you just don’t understand. How could you when I can't even explain to you that I don't want to be here, that I don't think I want this.

I picked this because I thought I was ready to leave; thought that I needed to get away, to find myself, to grow up. I needed to decide who I was going to be, what I was going to love and what I was going to stand for. I wanted this job because it was supposed to be an actuarial job in a non-traditional role, I don’t want to be an actuary. But the business side of what I was going to do, I enjoyed that. I didn’t choose this just for me. It’s the job I was supposed to take. In order for you to be proud, I had to leave home. You never said it, but you always talked your way around it. Always made sure I knew what you thought, as if somehow staying would make me weaker; make what I was doing less important or meaningful. Plus, this was the job that made the fastest student loan payoff possible.

So, how could I not pick this?

How? I found myself. Or, at least the version of myself that I think I want to be. I found it without leaving; I grew up when no one was looking. And, my non-traditional role is gone. I’ll be plugging and chugging, and that’s fine, it’s just boring, it's not what I want. And, what if I don’t want to leave? I do actually want to leave, I don’t want to return to those exact towns, and streets, and faces. But I don’t want to be this far away either. I know it's only two hours, but it feels like forever. I need those people, those places...

So, I’m here. I’m sitting in my new apartment wondering what the hell I was thinking, worrying about what will change, thinking about all the things I’ll miss, anxious about changes in plans, but mostly angry with myself because I’m the only one to blame.

This is what I picked, and it will work, I will be happy. I just wonder if it could have been better, if I could be better.