You're No Good

My allergies are so bad I look like a coke addict, or at least the impression of one I got from TV when I was younger. Constant sniffing and furiously rubbing my nose.

I think of death often. I wouldn't say I'm death obsessed. Mostly it's premonitions of my own- which probably goes along with the whole suicidal thing. In my head "I imagine death so much it feels like a memory" kind of swirls around every few days. I don't think it's quite the same- although I wonder. Sometimes. I do wonder if I'm not already dead. If I'll know. I feel haunted by the eventuality, the unknown and the idea that I may never find contentment before it comes.

Yesterday I talked to a guy about getting drunk and listening to emo-music. He included Elliott Smith, which I argued wasn't emo, but I would accept on the playlist. He said he'd been listening to Kings Crossing which is my favorite song from From a Basement on the Hill and I fell in love in the same flighty girlish way I always do. I mentioned I loved XO. I'll never see him, and if I did he wouldn't like me.

I put the remnants of my broken relationship in my car to take to Goodwill. I am determined to throw away the paintings. I deleted most of the photos off my phone. I remember going through all these steps with Gilbert and a sudden fear is creeping in that Houston is a much smaller world than it seems from the freeway.

I've been planning my escape. I don't think I want to live there while everyone is still married. I'll return when the first of my close friends divorces. In the meantime I dream of Chicago- or Boston- somewhere I can run into a scrappy Irishman. Maybe Ireland.

If there's one thing that I'm proud of in my wasted Austin, it's that I at least survived in a city on my own for quite a while. I want to take that further and live out of state. Maybe go to grad school in New York- if I ever manage to finish my undergrad. I guess that's the point of my return to Houston as it is, so I better. If not there's really no reason to not toss all my stuff and try to figure out a life somewhere else.

I've been thinking about taking acting or improv classes. Maybe both. The only harm could come from figuring out I'm terrible at it- but really, failure isn't the end of the world. Boredom is. A life void of passion and ambition is my biggest fear. I think of death so often because I worry it will creep up on me before I feel I've established myself as someone who never settled.

I need to find my book.

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