I'm back.

I haven't written in a while. It's tough to censor what I write. I want to be able to write freely but I have learned just because I cherish writing as a cathartic hobby does not mean I can slander and disseminate private information on a whim in order to free my demons. As important as journaling is to me I know that not all worries or complaints or frustrations can be for the general public. I need to save those raw sentiments for my personal journal, which needs to be my own.

I miss writing daily. I miss writing about my mundane days. I miss writing about my insecurities. I miss writing about my wonderment of the future, my anxiety for the future.

When I was single I could write whatever I wanted because I was a loner. I was able to examine myself inside and out with no consequences. Now I have a boyfriend, who is more than just a boy friend. He is my partner, my mate. . .my soul mate. In a way, he is an extension of me. And because I had no problem critiquing myself, I had no problem critiquing him. The disdain for myself and my lack of respect for myself spilled over to my perceptions of him. I never gave him a chance because I don't even give myself a chance.

To some people that might not make sense. But when you have no love for yourself, how is it possible to love someone else? There is glimpse of a heart of gold within me, but it is crushed under emotional rubble. There are times when that rubble shifts and there is a glimmer of the person I once was and the person I can be.

I've wanted to write about the journey I am on with him, but I'm not sure why. Do I think it's juicy? Do I think it may be of help to a reader? Is it for venting purposes? Is it to try to push my pain on him? I don't know the reason. Even if it's helpful for me to let it loose, it's still harmful. My slanderous drivel is still etched in his heart.

I still feel very uncomfortable writing at this time. It's a combination of worry. I worry I may say too much. And selfishly I worry it's been so long since I've written anything I write will be, gulp, BAD.

But all I can do is try.

This journey is uphill, downhill, sun filled, rain drenched, treacherous, slow, fast. It's without a map, without a plan, with an elusive destination soaked with love, passion and understanding. It's frustrating, it's hard, it's hurtful, it's unhealthy. It's beautiful, it's untouchable, it's so worthwhile. It's everything love should be for him and me. Today it's getting better. Today the journey is easy. Maybe tomorrow I will write that it's too hard. Or maybe I won't write at all.

Estimated Prophet

Monday I bounded to The Looking Glass to drop off my film for developing. I was so excited to spend my enormous government return on having my memories of my time in California become tangible. Saturday I picked up $90 worth of crisp corners and glossy surfaces. I shocked myself with some of my artistry and congratulated myself on exploring a new area and actually documenting it instead of relying on friends' doubles.

Friday I flew to San Diego to surprise my mom who I hadn't seen since November. It was a happily tearful reunion. Though it has been almost 6 months since I moved, it seems like it's only been a week. It's strange the way time can play tricks on your mind. . .

Anyways. . .in San Diego I realized that the beach was too far from me here in Berkeley. It's an hour to Santa Cruz, just as the beach was an hour from me in New Hope. But I'll always revert to the summer I lived in Charleston and rolled out of bed right into my bikini and after deciding on the best caffeine depot, landing in prime sun tanning and ocean splashing mode. In San Diego though, my proximity to the beach would be even closer. As we drove down Highway 101, I stared longingly at the beach bum apartments with wet-suits dangling on the ramshackle porches neglected only because of their owner's water sport obsessions. I want to sit on those porches at night with sore muscles that wouldn't succumb to the waves, but became a part of the powerful arcs of the water, staring onto the Pacific with awe despite my immersion into it daily. I want to wake up and stretch on those porches and thank Whoever decided to grant San Diego with glorious weather and magnificent views, shaping a lifestyle the entire nation is crazy to not be envious of. I mean, really. . .who wants to live in Syracuse?

Tomorrow I'm going to Lake Tahoe. That government return and quitting my internship has lead to an increase in money and a decrease in responsibility, a detrimental combination that I'm ignoring right now but am anticipating will somehow screw me over in the next few weeks (stay tuned for that rant). Still, I figure I might as well take advantage of this for the short time that I can. I'm not even sure what is in South Lake Tahoe, but I hear it's beautiful and I hear it's one of those places you're "supposed to go to". . .But people said that about me going to college and look what that did to me. . .

I digress. I have to find stuff to do in South Lake Tahoe. I need to figure out how many rolls of film I will need and what kind of weather I need to dress for and what sort of footwear will be required. In the words of my boyfriend, "OMG, like shoes!"

Again, I digress.