It's 80 degrees Farhenheit according to the downtown clock; this translates to about 76 degrees according to extensive testing of the accuracy of the downtown clock. Still, it's fucking warm out. And humid; it rained all night last night.
Cars are driving by; seems like in hot weather, more cars are red -- funny how that works out. Some are playing nastyrap, others are playing early-eighties pop: "We can dance if we want to..."
I'm sipping on a "Parlour City Sunset," a secret drink I made up that tastes like a creamsicle. Unfortunately, it's non-alcoholic. But I know how to make one that IS alcoholic. That one wasn't my recipe.
Kids are walking around wearing t'shirts and tank tops. Girls' boobs are flopping around in tiny little Britney Spears' tops. A group of boys downtown walked past me, all dressed in black pants, white shirts, and red bandannas. They looked like very young fraternity pledge kids. Or maybe like a little mini-gang. Separately, they all would have looked quite stylish, but together, they just looked like insecure little fuckers. They whistled at me when I passed them again.
The river is high. Seems like the river always has something to do with my mood. When it's frozen, my world is stagnant. When it's high, my world is chaotic. Maybe there is something to all those old Native American legends about the rivers' influences. If so, I wish it didn't have to be that way; I wish my world wasn't dependent on a geographical feature.
I'm wearing a tank top of my own, listening to Eric Clapton on the radio and Depeche Mode from a car outside, cuddling with the red shirt named Ray-Bob, and day-dreaming off into my creamsicle drink. If I close my eyes, it feels just like California did.
Things are chaotic right now. Yesterday was my last day at Java Joe's -- at least, as an employee -- and I'm only scheduled for one shift next week at my new job, which is also a coffeehouse... I'm going to be pretty poor for awhile.
Java Joe's has always been home to me -- even since I was 16, every time anything went wrong, either Java's, or David, or some combination of both, was there to help pick up the pieces and give me coffee. I don't really know where to go when the sad times have something to DO with Java's... Running to David seems a little bit juvenile, though I did write him an immensely long letter. I'm a little afraid right now; there's a very obvious upheaval, and more than a little fear. I loved Java's.
Am not really sure there's anything left for me here. Somebody said to me the other day -- or maybe I read it -- that there's no reason to stay in a place where, if you leave, nothing will change. Gahd, WHO said that? I can't remember, but it struck me later as being so very, very true... What IS left for me here? Aaron and my family and Norman, I suppose. And Nathan. Nearly everything else, everyone else, is replaceable. Java Joe's is just another coffeehouse, really... There are thousands of them everywhere... It aches a bit to know that most of the people and places to whom I am indispensable, are all very far away.
I argue that people need me here, that I have things to finish up. But really, it's only fear talking. For some reason, I think my need to move on and change my life is somehow overcoming that fear. After all, of my own volition, I chose to uproot myself from the last thing left here that I passionately loved with all my heart.
Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose.
Have been trying to calm that thought by persuading myself that I have everything to gain.
Norman told me a few nights ago -- in sort of staggered conversation; I think because he was stoned or extremely tired -- that he couldn't foresee us breaking up in the near future over anything short of one of us relocating. He seemed to be expressing his opinion that we have a wonderful relationship. I'd beg to differ, actually. I'm really quite unhappy sometimes with our relationship. After all is said and done, we have nothing in common except coffee, sex, David Lynch, and Camel cigarettes. Not necessarily in that order.
I wish very much that I could knock on Norman's door right now, and tell him about all the vague feelings of groundlessness, of insecurity and weightlessness... He'd understand, I think, but I can't really do it; I'd be too afraid of sounding like an angsty teenager, which is the last thing a brilliant jazz musician needs to be taking care of. I suppose, in all honesty, Norman and I could be very much in love, under different circumstances. Like, if I'd been born ten years earlier and wasn't a ditzy air-sign like my parents. Relocation? Sure. What about Norman? Norman doesn't need me; Norman needs somebody warm to cuddle and play songs for. And do I need Norman? I don't know. Realistically, if I wasn't with Norman right now, I wouldn't be in Binghamton right now. Perhaps he's weighing me down a bit. I need that, though. I need that very much right now.
I need to know there's SOMETHING left to lose, even though that sounds absolutely horrible.
Time to go to work... Off to fishstick-land...
~Helena*