This is probably as good as a diary at this point, since I've been writing in my tumblr. I wrote letters. Lots of them. To everyone. They were too honest. But I'm here and they aren't and there is nothing I can do but be here. (I only wish that was really my attitude).

How many times have I talked about rabble rousing and my overwhelming desire to be a part of something big and important, how many documentaries have I watched on Vietnam protests in mad-city, asked "uncle" Paul and Phil about their rabble rousing days. I know, I know, Kenya is cool and important bla bla bla. I am too tired and discouraged. I am too nervous about leaving for my internship. I used to be good at writing about things.

Maybe later.

Packing packing packing, which accidentally caused me to simultaneously pack up my feelings, which caused me to be a brat for the last week, and which is causing me a little bit of much needed grief today. I hear that people in Kenya are honest, or at least lack the same sort of "tact" we have in America. Tact is such bullshit. It's like throwing someone off a building and providing a car pillow to catch the fall. I mean, if we're going to give a dramatic metaphor, that is what it is like.

I think that people really do want to believe what they are saying or really want it to be true. But that doesn't make it better. It mostly makes it worst. It's becoming increasingly apparent that people's words don't match their actions, and in general, it is testing my patience and making me frustrated. I am exhausted from weeding through what everyone says, trying to figure out which bits were true and which things were said to just make them feel a little less guilty. "You, like your mother, put undo burden on people who talk too much to remember what they've said." I guess I put too much weight on everything people say to me, which is just not how we do things around here. I spend too much time worrying about being sure I articulate everything appropriately, I am always so fucking worried about meaning what I say that half the time I don't say anything at all. And I always make the mistake of thinking that everyone thinks the same way I do, and then I get angry at them for not doing so. I feel so desperately the need to call everyone on their bullshit, or to get out of here and since I lack the nerve and because it is considered generally impolite and because half of the things I want to call people on are long since passed and I would likely be accused of "dwelling". So instead, I'm getting the fuck out of here for a while. Which is, of course, not to say that I won't miss it, as I am sure you all know by now due to the thousands of times I have panicked/written about panicking about missing everything. But sayonara dudes, I've got to get out of here, I'm losing my grip.

I'll write you letters, they will probably be too honest, but I'll be too far away to be properly worried about your reactions, which will probably not be as dramatic as I picture them in my head.

WELCOME TO EARTH, ASSHOLES. IT'S SPOOKY AND FUN.


I refuse to be scared of my own feelings, and I definitely refuse to sacrifice the many possibilities for the sake of self-preservation.
It's just life, baby, it ain't THAT scary.

true lyfe terror, I wish someone could just pack everything I needed for me, I wish I was already there. Too freaked out to think about how freaked out I am, so I am just going to go eat some snacks and go to bed and try to do some more packing tomorrow.

HOLY SHIT

"the horror of unlove"

I have taken to writing a lot in my journal and then putting the sentences in which I felt like I finally nailed down what I was trying to say on here. Maybe I shouldn't. I am feeling so overwhelmed with the way that everyone else thinks and expects the world to work and the way I expect it to. I am tired of being expected to handle these situations in the same way everyone else does. I don't want to, I don't even like how other people handle things. Or don't handle things. I don't want to feel like I am missing something, ever, because when things are gone, they are gone and baby, you can't get them back (especially if you don't notice they are missing). I don't just "move on" the same way other people do, closing one door and opening another. It is all so fluid that it is just not that simple and I don't WANT it to be that simple, I don't want to segment my life in that way. This is not assuming that everyone should be this way, but it is how I want to be, and I just want everyone to understand this, rather than tell me I should be doing things differently.

I see the big picture and note that it is too big to look at it all, but also I will try. How it all fits together. I strongly believe that our various relationships with people are what shape us, are the only things that shape us, and that letting these people slip through the cracks is dangerous. I am a memory box. I am something that is always changing but always the same. I can't think of the proper way to explain it but it is so obvious to me that this is true of all of us, whether or not we choose to be aware of it. I want to KNOW people. It is the easiest way to love them. and when it comes down to it, that is all I want to do really, is love people. Everyone is assuming that I am resisting the change, that I am trying to keep it from happening. I am just trying to make sure that I am aware that it is happening, and that it means something. I want to make sure I understand this so that I do not wake up one day and realize that a million changes have happened and that I can't remember them all and to make sure that I am never to distant from myself, all of myselves.

Everything is important, and nothing matters.

Part of me will never find comfort in the fact that people get lost in the shuffle because I don't think it is something that we should be comfortable with. I will take comfort in my uneasiness with the whole ordeal.

Redbird

"Savannah: write something beautiful about all this. You will. You can. I can tell it's coming. And if I'm still kicking I'll read every word." DJD

It never ceases to amaze and excited me that DJD not only knows about the this tiny wonder of a place I am lucky enough to call home but that he also has been here and understands it, and it's importance to me, after just a day.

It's redbird time, and it doesn't matter that I have been freaking out or panicking because I am home for the warmest shows of the season, with people who have watched me grow up and who know me well.

To wild homes we go, to wild homes we return to, baby.