09.26.10

The reality of being back in the U.S. is flying in my face now.

The putting-myself-into-the-right-boxes. Being someone slightly off-center from my true self. Being confined, sanitized, respectable. I'm scared of that. Scared because I've been there before, for years. I know.

I must unfurl. I've begun. I am birthing a new self. It is shocking and shattering and healing. It is wildness. How dare I let anything tame it?

Nevertheless, I am attached to a world, a life in which expectations will always exist. What am I to do? I wonder if I've been born into the wrong world. Or time. Or dimension.

Another universe lives inside me.

From 07.06.10 & 08.02.10

07.06.10

It is a split. A parallel world that I know is not a figment of my imagination. It was real that I lived in Nepal. It is real; it's still there. It's real that I am back at home. I'm here. I carry within me that other world. I carry Nepal. It's real.

Why does it feel so much like fantasy? Why does it seem like so very long ago? Why can't my arms stretch far enough to touch both of these very different, very distanced worlds? And why can't I gather all my selves into one coherent Heidi?

08.02.10

Our car smells like crayons. Better than New Car Smell. But I think I'd rather just have crayons.

I've bitten off my nails. Again. I'll keep biting until it's safe to stop.

We're living in a periwinkle house on Mary Street. Our shit is everywhere.

I had to put my shit in a plastic container and hand it to the doctor.

I see topis; my heart swells.

We listened to bluegrass, spontaneous folk music in a warehouse on Walnut Street.

We watched Neal play the banjo on the patio.

I'm surprised by my life.

I hope Ella remembered me. Everyone else remembered me. I wish they (all) didn't.

I spoke my wildest dream out loud; it came true.

I am tired of boxes, straight lines, answers, safety, sameness. I don't fit inside. I'm curvy.

I am wild, evolving.