The indefinence  is starting to settle in. And me realizing or remembering that I didn’t just come tumbling out of a cloud. I had roots. I was uprooted. And then internally I ran away. I’m sometimes too attached to the illusion of having control over my history. But two-hour rides back eastward towards the ocean remind me that I grew up hella rural. And ‘never did’ ‘fit in’. And still don’t seem to. I fight with fierceness and urgency the identities I perceived to be suggested upon me by other people whose words probably never meant such a thing…or don’t actually weigh much if they did. I’ve been boxing the wind. I’m so dramatic in my missing the West Coast and those certain hues of blue; that specific strain of struggle I had gotten used to. College-educated, millennial, city-poor. Which feels a lot more glamorous and instagrammable than twenty-seven and single in the South. But I’m working this out of me; these crumpled up composition pages with the same sentence starters on alternating lines. Choosing between too few lanes to ride in. Driving bare-foot to Target in my Subaru at 9AM – getting turned around in an empty parking lot only three miles away from home. Just now starting to feel sometimes like I actually know where I’m going. You’d think I’d never lived here before. But then again I wasn’t me when I did. 

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