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August 24, 2003; 1:06 p.m.
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Nostalgia bears the consistency and tinge of warm olive oil. It threatens to engulf me in its lazy lipic hold, but slowly I'm finding that there isn't a lot I want to carry with me. I have memories that bleed rich sepia and no longer mean anything.
I had a dream once that the sky was a violent purple from which loud, powerful winds came that couldn't quite knock me over from behind my closed window. I opened the window and stared out to the sky and the wind stopped but still howled. I don't know why, but staring into the sky and seeing nothing but purple clouds and dark purple atmosphere made me more sad and scared than I've ever felt before or since.
When I close my eyes, my thoughts are vague imprints against the black of my eyelids. When I dream, the images are vivid and scary - always.
Last night I was alone completely for the first time in a very long time. I used these few hours to sneak two carrying bags from downstairs into my room and packed some clothes into one. I spent the hours deciding what to put into them. Neither is full. I still need to do the laundry; all of my favorite clothes are in the wash. What books do I bring? What about my saxophones? What do I carry with me if I'm never coming back?
I don't know when I'm leaving, but I know it has to be soon. I can't stay here any longer. I haven't prepared for this at all; I have no money, I don't know where I'll stay when I leave, or where I'm going.
My most profound realization so far is of my own inadequacy. I'm not done yet, and I won't be for a long time. But I'm gonna do this anyway because I won't give my self any other choice. I'm undone, unprepared for it, and I'll just have to do the best I can.
I can take a train from here to anywhere in America: Chicago, New York, any random destination (so I'm definitely bringing Atlas Shrugged). All I need is the money to pay for it and a temporary place to stay and coffee.
The mornings have been foggy lately, and the nights very hot. It's strange to me that the days can be so bleak when their nights are so clear. I wonder if these moments will be fossilized in amber, remain as vivid as things are at night, or become as hazy as things are in recent daylight.
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