The New Place

There's no trace of me...

The thing that people don't tell you about your early 20s is that you become an expert at being a ghost. You move into an apartment or dorm, put down a security deposit, and then a few months later, you remove every trace of you. Hair is taken out of the bathtub, that spot on the floor is buffered out, the piles of clothes get packed away in your car. Everything you brought in here, is taken out.

By the time you take the pictures of where you'd just inhabited (just in case your sketchy landlord tries to take you to court), your essence has already been Cloroxed out. You no longer exist here. But if walls have memories, your ghost will haunt this dwelling place. I hope my ghost haunts the places I've been, because for a time I've fallen in love with each place I inhabited.

I've mentioned I'm messy, right?
This is my 'living room'

I told you guys awhile back that I moved away from the crazy neighbors, but I haven't showed you the new place, or told you much about it.

Probably because I'm still going through an adjustment period. Probably, also, because I no longer have wifi at this new place so I sit in the Young Adult section of the local library, hoping that the voices of the kick-ass authors around me will help muse me. (So far it's been working, I think.) This means the blogs you read are usually posted a week in advance now (trying to utilize my time, you know).

Well, Baxter and I live in Poland, Maine now. We live with an older woman, her son, his wife/finance/girlfriend (I'm not sure which so fill in your own blanks), and their son. (That's right, three generations in one house, and me and Baxter.)

Because I'm neurotic and freaked out when they started eating my food, they gave me a mini-fridge to put downstairs (it's the black box on the floor in the picture below). I'm now like a vampire; dwelling in the basement, getting no sunlight. I'm awake at night, mornings are still awful, and I'm still a horrible roommate. To be proactive, I'm trying to keep my head low and just hang out downstairs or go running. If I'm not around you can't fight with me, right?

Look, over there on the left. There's a bed.
Not an air mattress! 

The drive is significantly less to work, so that's nice. They also let Baxter out to pee while I work long shifts, so that's a huge help, too. But my anxiety level has increased substantially. It turns out, I don't like to talk as much as I think I do. Sure, I've been calling my sister for hours every day to chat but it's not talking. I don't like the superficial, "How's your day? How was work/school/etc?" I don't like answering the same thing countless times, "Oh, you know, I hate my job."

It taxes my energy level, and I retreat to the basement to be antisocial. Tell me about important things; politics, the fact the Shell broke the ice in the Arctic and is now helping destroy the world, religion, changing the world...Don't ask me about my day, when it's the same as yesterday.

I know at some point I'll be moving again. I don't know where (especially since I didn't get into TFA), and I don't know when. But at some point, I would like to live on my own again. In the meantime, it's nice to know that while a million things keep changing...

...Some things stay the same

**Note**
If you're a Twitter follower, I said that I was blogging today about Harry Potter. Sadly, the library I'm at doesn't seem to have any of the books, and I like to have pictures on the blog, AND my sister had some issues with getting her picture to me. Stay tuned, the blog post will happen. Sorry if that's what you were expecting today.

Fear Journal

My sister last year got me Journalation, a book that has tips and things like that to keeping a journal. I still haven't gotten very far into it, but one of the things I picked up was when journaling to write a few things at the top of the page:

Date (I always write the date. If I don't, there's usually some significance why. I'm probably hiding something)
Location (Where are you? What are you doing? Are you with anyone? Why are you here? Music on?)
Time
End writing time

And so, I kept my regular journal for a couple of months, daily lists of random crap I did through the day. Usually things of non-importance but I did like keeping track of who I interacted with through the day. (I have a really bad memory and these things would be lost otherwise.)

Then something happened and I started falling a little off kilter. I found a composition notebook that Laura had given me before I'd started college. I'd been saving it and bringing it along everywhere because I knew someday I'd need it. So, I started a Fear Journal. When I would start worrying about something, I'd write about it and specifically track what I was afraid of, possible outcomes, then probable outcomes. Entries are far between, usually once a month, maybe less. (I lost the journal in my trunk for a long while.)

Just recently, I've been writing just about every day. Today, I asked Laura if I could read her my entry from yesterday though it was a million pages long. She sat on the phone with me while I read. There's something nice about reading out loud, it allows you to detach if you just focus on the words and not the fact that something horrific has just happened to you. There was one point during the reading I almost cried, but I kept it together. Her response?

"That....was intense. I know someday you're going to write about this...."

Which I found funny, because hadn't I just written about it?

This is kind of my point. As a writer, we channel a lot of energy through our writing. I keep journals and write when things become too much because it's like releasing it. It can't eat me from the inside out if it's on paper. I try to write when wounds are fresh because it's much more honest and someday when I come back to it, I can face it again and turn it into a story of some sort. I don't have a lot of coping mechanisms, but writing is by far one of the strongest ones I have.

And so....when you're scared or overwhelmed, what do you do?

Bottom Line?
Fear. Nothing.