I am unmoored.
And I feel a little bad for the people who read this blog. Surely you aren’t here for me. Surely you’re here for some sort of insight – the sort that perspective gives – or, maybe, some sort of release.
You know, the sort of release that comes from feeling like you can read someone’s mind.
I wish someone would read my mind and pick through it. Tell me why I feel the way I feel.
I’ve replayed the same memories hundreds of times now. I think of future conversations and replay those, too.
Sometimes they make me feel sick to my stomach (stupid, stupid butterflies). Sometimes they make me happily giddy (stupid, stupid butterflies).
But I don’t know where I’m going. I know the map of my life so poorly that I can’t even promise a kitten I’ll be in one place for more than a year.
(Can’t promise a kitten or a puppy or a guinea pig. Sigh.)
I’ll be back in Sydney in 3 weeks, though. Couch-surfing, probably.