I'm sitting here listening to an old winter playlist of songs I used to listen to right before I moved (and when I got here). The Flashbulb and Explosions in the Sky kept my mind occupied as I drifted off into a nostalgic world in my head while driving; the roads in Missouri are endless it feels like. I remember not only having these two groups as my driving music but also as my writing and running music. Running in the crisp night air of winter with a full moon around a lake listening to this playlist was surreal in every way. I cannot seem to explain it. I may even have to write a poem about it.
To be honest, those first few months of living here were a dream in and of itself. They blended into each other, the pictures and lines merging into one another. Now as I think back on it, I see myself looking through this smeared greasy lens of self hate, homesickness, and resentment towards my husband. I missed smoking pot, dropping ecstasy and staying out to all hours of the night to silence the madness that was roaring inside my head, anything to escape what I was truly feeling. Which was way too much. Or nothing at all. I think sometimes I did these things to feel something. While at other times, if feeling too much, I had to spin my "Wheel of Fortune" of what destructive act I could inflict on myself to stop the spinning, stop the chaos.
This summer has probably been the shortest summer of my life. I did (almost) absolutely nothing because of the damned heat. I felt like I was crawling around in someone's hot mouth. Oh my that sounded dirty. Heh. But really, the summer months just kinda felt like one whole month of boring, lazy hell. I was the sin Sloth. Nothing aroused interest or pleasure in me except lazy days on the couch reading book after book losing myself in another world that was much more interesting and exciting than my own.
Too bad I'm (more than likely) going to be here another god damned 4 years.