I am a lost balloon.

Losing helium. Floating still, but not for long. I will continue to drift off-course until I collapse in on myself and flutter with the whims of the wind. Then, one day, I will land on some nondescript city sidewalk and find myself stuck to the back of somebody's boot.

--

Somewhere, there's a little girl gazing at the sky, waiting for her bright blue balloon to come back. If only she hadn't let go. The balloon must be having some awfully wonderful adventures up there, the little girl tells herself. The balloon will come back when it's ready. We'll get you another bright blue balloon, her mother says. Another bright blue balloon? the girl asks quizzically. Her mother nods. And so it will be done.

It is easy to distract the child, for she is young enough to be wholly human, that is, young enough to move on without nostalgia.

This time, the girl doesn't let go. She is happy with her new balloon. It is bigger and a brighter blue. She grips the string tightly with one hand and holds her mom's hand with the other. Leaves are scattering everywhere. She plays the game where you have to step on as many as possible. She skips, to the dismay of her mother, who is wearing stilettos and carrying shopping bags full of coffee beans and milk and TV dinners, and she cannot keep up with the child, though she has legs twice her size.

The leaves crunch beneath the girl's feet. One leaf does not crunch. The girl does not notice that this leaf faintly squeaks instead. It sounds synthetic. Plastic. The girl does not look down to see that it is blue. A blue balloon, in fact, that has seen better days.

--

Afterward: Inevitably, the bigger, brighter, bluer balloon will fare much as I, slipping from grip, floating adrift, then gone but swiftly forgotten.

why am i incapable of finishing ANYTHING? this is a level of procrastination i don't think i've ever before experienced. i almost feel like i need to talk to someone, like there's something wrong with me, something that needs fixing. i just can't bring myself to do what i have to. i am so distracted, but by what? my head is off in the clouds, floating like a lost balloon.

bundle of nerves and dreams

in a matter of hours, maybe even minutes, i will know if the drugs are working. if my dad is getting better. if i am going to peru. i will know a lot of pretty big deal things.

i am less nervous than i should be and more nervous than i'd like to be

i don't know

i can't be articulate on this...waiting

i've gotten so used to it, it's almost comforting. im scared of not having to wait, now. i'm scared of knowing.

when im waiting, i can pretend. i can rationalize. i can tell myself that the results will be what i want to hear. but when i hear the results, they will be what they are. there is a whole lot less to rationalize then.

Determination on hiatus. Is this all there is? Breathe.

When I look out the window, I cannot see the sky, not even when I maneuver my head into the most unnatural of positions. This is Manhattan, after all. Windows to the sky cost big bucks. I only see other windows--turned mirrors in the daylight--reflecting back in on myself. Forcing me to look in when I'm attempting to look out.

Out. I look out and see in. Look up and there is just ceiling.

Where am I going with this? Where am I going in general?

No where. That is the answer. I'm stumbling towards an imaginary destination, that is, when I'm moving at all.

I CAN get up right now, go outside, and gaze at the heavens. So why am I still sitting here?

ARGH FUCK MY LIFE. FUCK YOU. FUCK ME. FUCK EVERYONE.

I've noticed I'm a lot blunter these days, a little bit less diplomatic.

I've noticed I don't write anymore. Not really, anyway. Not creatively. Don't they say that pain produces the best writing? For me, it's done the opposite. Inspiration has vanished.

I've noticed that all I do is sleep. OK, that's clearly in part due to jet lag. But I remember, the other night, I was tired but would've stayed up in normal circumstances...and I just slept because I could. Closed my eyes because it was escape. The only way I knew how to stop thinking, stop worrying about what I have to do...I just don't want to worry anymore. Don't want to stress. I want to do one or two things and stick with them, channel my energy into them completely. I'm so good at Envoy but I have so much else to do that I cannot focus, cannot do as well or as much as I'd like. Sigh.

Nothing has changed. Everything has.

I am home from Thailand. I barely slept, but I FEEL rejuvenated...spiritually speaking, that is. All those nights I danced until dawn did me damn good. I am ready to accept reality for what it is and work around it. If I must stay in NYC, I won't be trapped. This is a huge city with so much to do and so many people to meet, and damnit, I will make the time.

Lately, I've been obsessed with getting my hair cut. I think I just need a physical representation of the internal changes. I want to do something a little bit different and daring. I'd like to be edgy and crazy for a while.

It's interesting, how full of close calls Thailand was. So many instances in which it seemed like the trip would be fucked, then it wasn't. Almost being trapped in China then getting on the plane at the absolute last second by a stroke of luck/hours of negotiation. Nearly missing the overnight train to Koh Tao, hopping motorcycle taxis and speeding across Bangkok to catch up with the train, which we made at the very last minute. Losing Sybil at the Full Moon Party for about 2 hours, having a heart attack, then finding her eating breakfast contentedly. Almost being unable to leave Thailand after the Thai airline changed the flight time without telling me. Begging, begging some more, SPRINTING to the gate, and making the flight during the final call, sweating and panting, but PRESENT nonetheless. Falling asleep in Shanghai and waking up only during the final boarding call for the flight to Detroit.

Maybe this all means something. Maybe it is a sign, that this year, this cancer, all of the bad luck we've been having will just be a string of close calls. Maybe, and frankly, in all likelihood, it means jack shit. BUT, at the very least it tells me that close calls can happen. Everything can seem to be going wrong and then turn around at the last minute when you're ready to give up. It gives me hope...if for nothing specific, I know this pattern of misery cannot go on forever.