Going to try to write away the nausea. My gut is churning from lack of sleep, a house full of someone else's party, sitting in a room containing furniture, an empty bookcase, this computer, full of uneasiness, one part dread, many parts uncomfortable reminiscence. I'm going to have to go to the airport tonight and sit in the terminal for many hours. Maybe I'll Spill it all onto a page to be unburdened for my six weeks (this is the advantage of writing). Maybe I'll just play Pokémon until the sun rises.
There are no such things as clean breaks. Change rolls in on cogs of rejection, fear. Huge departures have never made me excited in the way they should. Just removed, itchy, amoebic. Everything is pulled in every direction. I am a blob. I don't see the linear construction of life events; I see a ship listing in curly-cues. And as such, I'm fairly seasick.
I could assert some navigatory conviction, falsify an inspiration to star plotting, release some rhetorical homing pigeon. But the truth is that I am not at all sure what is going to happen or how I'm going to react to it.
Swirly, swirly, swirly.