disposable

back to the grind. back to the routine. back to the normalcy.

I got my pictures back from Colorado. A few of them are very good, a couple are great. I shot with a disposable. I print out standard 5 x 7s to see whats good and blow up what's deserving. What can I say? The trip was epic as always. Eric said it best by stating "This is great. We're 30. We're with Sagan (dog). We're traveling through the Rocky Mountains in a 1979 RV and there's heavy drugs involved."

That and the fact that we met fire eaters, a professional hula-hooper and watched a boa constrictor feed on a white rat, pretty much sums up my week away.

I bought a messenger bag to replace my downed backpack. I paid a hefty fee for it, but its construction and material (water-resistant black canvas outside/water-proof vinyl liner inside) ensures a durable long life. I covered the h-mo knit corporate logo on the bag with a safety-pinned skull with crown that I had laying around. Fitting.

They say ("they" as in people over 30) that life gets a bit easier after 30, and I think they're right. I don't carry the angst that I did 8 years ago, but I still have a bit of the fire in my gut. Maybe it's the anxiety of the twenties passing and mellowing into young adult life. Whatever.

I think that I have a slight anxiety disorder. I can be on-edge and intense, and I don't understand it. It comes on like an adreneline rush. I can be funny/it can be scary. I think I like this wellbutrin shit, it seems to even me out.

I ran across a note the other day that shannon had written me long ago, and made the mistake of reading it. I still have it. Why keep this sort of thing? It doesn't matter anymore, it's from a friend who is now gone/pushed away, and it's a reminder of a good place that went bad. I've often wished that the situations were different because there is a good soul buried there beneath thick skin, protruding spikes and protective shielding... but it's all too combative now.

I'm in this spot in my head where: I don't want to forget what I liked about her and why I was with her/I don't want to know or remember her... I wish there was a way to be connected that satisfied both of our wants and needs/I'm getting on much better without her. I think I'm happier now than I was two months ago, six months ago, nine months ago... but I do miss her, and I am still a bit hurt by what has gone down and how she flipped. It made me tear up for about 30 seconds for no reason a couple of weeks ago. Her life breaks my heart, and her actions both endear and frighten me. It's best for that we won't talk. I know that I won't meet anyone like her again (which is a hard lived lesson learned)... it had taken me this long to find her. In the end, I'm being more of myself for myself and I hope that she is happier.

sorry for the wanker note. I will definitely try to stop being such a pussy.