i still listen to the cure.

smoke cigarettes.

drink wine.

eat meat.

eat foreign vegetables.

eat Second Slice pizza.

stay up late.

never finish books.

obsess about apologizing and loneliness.

somehow I think i should know better by now.

and part of me cares deeply about altering my choices.

part of me can not be bothered.

there is another part of me, a greater part, however, that aches knowing that i'm not a better person.

a better writer.

activist.

thinker.

reader.

cook.

friend.

organizer.

lover.

photographer.

so i sit. here. in victoria. thinking about what city is next.

some people know what i have in mind.

most do not.

i plan to keep it that way for a bit.

until i am a little more settled in my head.

i have hardly written this year.

that pains me.

looking back always does.

but this is just it.

ihave a bed partner. a friend. a feminist. a book finisher. a cook. a collector.

he has become my life. although i am aware of the kind of response i may receive in response to such a statement,

it. is. okay.

now what i deal with on a daily basis are questions of time, trust, space, response, observation, ability, compatibility, judgement, and peace.

lists kristina. always with the lists.

indeed.