written in October 2017
I think going on drives is my muse. I think acknowledging I don’t need a muse should be my muse, but isn’t yet.
I realized tonight that I feel lost when I’m not looking for something. I keep going back to the days when I struggled, alone--when I raked hair out of shower drains at 3am or got snowed in every Saturday for four months while writing essays. Fall always makes me look back. Why? I always want to build a time machine just for certain moments, like running away from an ex's house acting like I wasn’t hoping I’d run into him, but running up against more sunsets than I can remember instead.
And I would take the long way home to get away, just to get away, but also to find something else, maybe in the mountains or the tunnels I drove through to get there or maybe at the top of the mountain during summer. Every time it was like a surprise to summit, like calling the wrong number and knowing it, even before the person on the other end says hello and you know you’ll have to stumble and say sorry, wrong number. And you wish you could hire a helicopter to come and whir you away, and off the top of the mountain, and sliding down the glacier on your butt doesn’t make you numb enough to the shame of the whole thing.
And then climbing back down, you see wildflowers.
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