Alone But Not Lonely

This is a journal entry from today.  I paused a lot while writing which might explain its disconnected format.

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1:12 PST

I walked all over the fucking Pike Place Market.  I’m sitting in the sun on the grass overlooking the water.  What is everyone doing here?  Are they all here for the same reasons I am?  I can tell some are but it might simply be vacation.  I’m here for liberation. 

It’s hotter than I expected but it’s still nice.  I finally got a pack of American Spirits.  I had two and it did me well.  A familiar friend. 

I realized I was pretty hungry.  Or … empty.  Not much of an appetite but I felt I should eat, sit, and drink some water.  Just finished an organic orange.  I bought a bunch last evening in a co-op in the little sect I am staying. 

There are a lot of people – all expressing themselves differently.  It’s nice not to be working.  I worked hard to get here.  Lots of hours at a job and even more hours spent dreaming in my bedroom.  I feel I have pilgrimed through many years of preparation for this very moment.  This moment is good. 

I have this feeling at the surface of not wanting to come across as “not being from around here”.  I don’t know why.  Maybe because I don’t want to appear as though I come from somewhere … because it doesn’t feel like I do.  I miss some folks back home.  But I don’t miss the place.  I’m not even sure what I am feeling, I’m simply just trying to take it all in.  Envisioning myself as Patti Smith.  A lost girl in a new world – I’d have it no other way.  So great to be here.

“Are you going to move there?” is the question I’ve been asked.  It’s too soon to tell but it feels like a city I could thrive in.  Anything.  Anything else than dying in the Valley of Virginia.

I realized I’m the appropriate kind of tired.

Tired from living.

Not from dying.

It is invigorating.

I am less exhausted and far less hungry like I am so much so at home.  “Home”.  It was a good place to live.  I learned so much about myself.  But there is nothing left for me there. 

It feels great to write again.  Writing with a pen.  Contact with some paper.  So expressive in the right way. 

(Shade would be nice … don’t want to burn)

I do not have any expectations, to be honest, and feel this is working in my favor to create a clear path.  I seriously just want to take the present, each passing second that comes to be. 

I am thinking, reflecting rather, on this past year.  I feel each event has led me to this time.  The people I’ve met, the shows I’ve been to.  I’ve done this for myself.  I have been the one to get me to each point.  It’s fucking thrilling. 

I never thought it would be easy.  Sure as hell wasn’t “easy” – but clearly nothing I couldn’t handle.  I’m a little girl in a big city.  But despite my size I’m fucking mighty.  Maybe not naturally.  I think I’ve built myself this way.  I chose to tear down The Wall. 

Little kids are chasing pigeons.  Lots of hungry eaters.  Good to be on the planet with them at the same time.  They do not know they have everything to do with my experience – to do with this unusual journey.

Hmm … where is a tree I can rest under with my book “Just Kids” … ?

Looking, looking. 

This spot is nice.  This spot is holding me well.  But I think I’ll move.

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Wound up finding myself a bathroom.  A chick in there was smoking weed.  Felt strangely “at home”.  What does this say about me?  Now I’m nestled in a little coffee lounge called “Local Color”.  Black leather couches, soft lights, with Frank Sinatra serenading me.   A drum set sits behind me.  Perfect.

Sippin’ on a 12 oz. black, iced Americano. 

Do I need the coffee?  No.

Am I here to drink as much as I can in the “Coffee Capital”?  But of course! 

Poison me with caffeine, Seattle.  Inject me with culture.  Let me ride under your city wings.  Brilliant.

So.
Let me now be slightly shallow and just say this – the sexiness of the fellas is astounding.  The kind of sexy that home-folks would say is just bad hygiene.  I like ‘em dirty.  I like their hair.  Washington boys, don’t mind if I do. 

(It’s only 2 PM here.  Is that right?  I feel like I’m been here forever but in such a good way.)

Damn, this Americano is strong.  But I like it.  The young lass behind the counter asked if I “wanted room for cream” … I cringed.  I cringed because I know she asks that a million times a day like I do at my job.  I wanted to give her a hug but she’s putting in her time just as I do.  She had blue hair. 

I do love and appreciate the job I have at home.  A necessary link for me.  I dream of having my coworkers (&friends) here with me to talk about coffee and music.  I do miss them.  They’ve been so good to me.  And despite the oppression of that lacking town, they have helped save me.  I don’t think they know.  And I love them for that.  If only I had them here with me, I think my life would be so … complete and filled.  But it’s good to tour alone.  It’s like one part of myself is forcing another part of me to see “what I’m made of” if you will. 

I’m made of an appreciation for art and culture.

Made of a love for adventure.

Made of my dreams and curiosity. 

I’m made of a lot of things that I do not know yet.

I can only know within time and courage.

I think I’ll just rest here in this nest under the ceiling-fan until my sore feet are ready to roam again.  (Why do I have to like cute shoes?)  I’ll then take the light-rail back to Columbia City where I am staying with my friend Sabrina, her groovy girlfriend Michelle, and their two adorably fluffy cats. 

I’ll eat my leftovers from Chinatown for dinner and chill.

I feel so free…

to do as I please. 

To be me.

And it’s only just begun.

[WHAT’S PLAYING IN MY EAR: “I Found a Way” – First Aid Kit]

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