sitting outside

journal entry 06/29/21



today it is unbearably hot outside, the kind of heat that makes everything steam at the edges and curl upwards as if retracting from every surface, every body in proximity. I've been reading so much recently which has felt more freeing than anything – what I like about reading is that it elongates time, makes every sentence precious and spillable. this week: Just Kids by Patti Smith, Argonauts by Maggie Nelson, John Berger, Erica Jong, memoirs and novellas and fiction.



something I thought about this week was how much better I feel when I don't spend time on instagram, as obvious as this diagnosis seems. I'm less impulsive, more content with moving through summer quietly and with stability. I'm in a state of rest.



I ordered my boxes and cleared out my closet, scrutinizing carefully whether or not I was keeping things for the right reasons. realization: I only have two reasons for keeping things – utility and nostalgia. I‘m moving to a brand new city and so I need to carry only the skeletons of essential items, leave everything behind. It's surprising how many things carry with them remnants of the past, of laughter and also of pain. The littlest trinkets, the bag slouched against the wall, gift cards, polaroids. Memory is wide and deep, a long pool I dip my hands into and retrieve it all from. I am not attached to things, but I am attached to memories. I know all this too well. The time has come to part with the things, but maybe it's also time to part with some memories too.