seven and a half hours so fast today, not of sleep, of work. I woke up and followed along with almost one half of a vigorous yoga video, "yoga for strength forty minute vinyasa series." 

nine out of any given ten days I will sleep in a half hour past when I plan to wake up. I do not jolt when I hear my alarm but rather I slide into consciousness and analysis harmoniously.

I feel disappointment. it is seven am. I will take a few minutes here to assess if I have a headache or not, if my joints feel sour, what else, why. here I tack on the thirty minutes: deferring my conclusions--I make time to plan to decide. 

I may be sensitive to dairy or bread or something. I defer to exploring this to a time when I will be less dependent on bagels for amusement (pleasure). perhaps in my thirties I will have found something else to get me through noon. I got through today because of a toasted blueberry bagel with lavender cream cheese. 

I need to write about what I am afraid of--and there is quite a lot. time has been moving in sort of a saturated hustle between last spring and the present, sort of like a wind swept blob of chunky jam. I want to make a diagram demonstrating what has changed (and how many times) and what is exactly the same. 

while I am writing this I am realizing how much my handwriting has decompensated since I started working at the Law Center. I type very fast now but my index finger and thumb muscles feel dumb and unrehearsed. or I am just becoming myself a little more everyday in every way: an overall imprecise, flailing sort of person (my Fs look like my Es). 

most of all I feel fear when I displease others.  or perhaps I am afraid of external disapproval when I am spinning in a gust of my own fuckery--this year for example. 

this may be part of why I have a history of attracting judgmental, unforgiving types of people. please, don't forgive me. 

I am not sure what good it would do to keep a journal again. though I have written three times in three different places today, the thought of carrying around a log of myself is anxiety producing in the same way that jumping into an frigid lake feels. slurping in breaths.

I fear I would put many hours into it and then, on one of these nights where I smoke pot, stare at my phone, panic and resolve to act, and then purge some things I feel are "weighing me down" I would toss it into a very small trash bag for my very small trash can. 

(note: if you ever come over to my "apartment" and throw something away, consider this a permanent act as I take out what is always an alarmingly full bucket of trash nearly every morning (after I decide I am well enough to wake up in thirty minutes)).  

I am wondering why one of my friends who lives across the globe has pulled away from me recently. I am wondering why I initiated some camping plans with my college roommate and another dear friend from that era in Portland when I know too well that I am broke and scrambling to do better with my money. 

aquarians, like all air signs, have a marked challenge with stillness. then, reflecting on the movement (which can escalate like a madness) I feel something that I've deferred to process so for now I will call it guilt. guilt for stirring up the lives of others, for my unrefined haste (however genuine), for generally being an "intense person." 

I had a dream that my friend that I have a crush on looked inside my oven.

I think I know what is in there: one to two cast iron pans (can also be used as pots if you add enough sauce and a lid) and the remnants of a melted jar of garlic supplements. the capsules fell behind the stove (no recollection of how that happened but I do remember reaching for them with a spatula which was also lost). 

I did find a small pan that may or may have not belonged to Melody back there. (Melody: if you are reading this, I have your pan). 

when the white goop sprawls out of an eggshell, it takes up exactly as much space as this pan offers. and--the pan shapes fried eggs into perfect circles. 

my friend looked into my oven compassionately, I could tell by his posture. 

I was across the room and all I could make out was a pit of darkness, maybe he saw more. 

dream: my judgemental and unforgiving friend and I walk on a paved bike bath through the woods. we are carrying bags. she tells me about how another friend of ours thinks she is breathtakingly beautiful. I agree. 

my airiness frightens me because it is vulnerable and blows around with the capacity to hurt others. or, more pertinently: to disappoint.  

my go-to coping/controlling/"grounding" mechanisms: isolate, smoke weed, sometimes I go outside, call Vanessa or go see Hannah. today I bought a drink called "The Honey Bunny" (apple cider vinegar, honey, some frothy stuff: it can't be milk and I should avoid that anyway) and read some of Jackie Wangs, "Tiny Spelunker of the Oneiro-Womb" (thank you, Vicky). 

it is may, usually these are the weeks when everyone's frequency begins to pick up. I need tools to practice the opposite. I need to be right here. I need to be right here until I know why being here takes such effort, why I am afraid of anhedonia in stillness. why I do not anticipate richness instead.