These nachos were simultaneously a great and terrible idea.

A few weeks spent living, spending, living and spending far beyond my means but being something close to happy, a few days doing nothing I regret in Nashville, eating antelope in a whiskey blackberry sauce, sucking down cuba libres like there was no tomorrow, listening to music, spending time with friends I don't see enough, sitting on a riverboat, letting Tennessee wash my worries away.

Then back home again, long enough to touch base, before I was off again to the nation's capital, to Washington DC and an old friend I just met. Four days of letting myself ride the bitterness, of nostalgia and adventure, of finally getting down to living, being who I want to be, having all that pressure to be interesting but realizing that the best plan was just being myself, letting the self confidence my lovers gave me show through, being nice and dangerous, unapologetic.

A selection from my journal, the day I landed: "The life of the summer dead had begun to weigh heavy on me, and all this uncertainty has left me wanting more. I'm excited, exhilarated, accelerated, need need need to do something go somewhere be someone, I need to kiss every girl I love, need to be needed, want every love to be returned equally, exactly."

All this time spent regretting everything and nothing, all those things undone, words unsaid, all those things I can never say or do now, because it's too late, always has been.

I've resolved to be more, I've decided I am tired of being cut down, and the only thing standing between what I want and me is myself.

I really am relieved that she was like an old friend I just met, reminding me so much of her best friend, who when I saw her again that day all those years ago, it was like she never left, like all the years never happened.

Scribbled this on the plane:
Finally heading home
With some brand new tales
Got the sun at my back
The wind in my sails
I'd grown too old in my wandering days
Maybe it's not too late to change my ways

DC was an adventure, days of adventure, a nonstop whirlwind of expectations and danger and mystery, of realizing once again that I'd made a mistake, that I'd fallen a little bit in love with another forbidden fruit, recognizing that it wasn't because of who she knew but who she is, and how twisted the former would have been. I always leave a little bit of myself behind, wondering if you worry about me.

Kelly you were right, and you weren't the first to see it, everybody I've been close to has seen the sadness, the result of getting my heart shattered as you put it, telling me I needed to find a girl who won't leave or be left. It's because it's always been the same, I've always been irresistibly attracted to the same kind of person, because I am always leaving or being left. You're a wise girl, and I hope it is not another eight years before I see you again. Come to think of it, there are so many wise girls I have not seen in years, and I wish that weren't so. With few exceptions, I am closest to those who are furthest away.

As much as I try to hide it, the sadness, the bitterness, it's always the same, I get quiet, I look off into space, and you know something's wrong, I'm somewhere else now. Before then, after, those long spaces of quietness, I look at you and I smile and I really and truly enjoy you. She thought I was so deadpan but the truth is there is so much love, and I always try to hold on, never let go.

I long to lose myself again in the lips and embraces of my lovers. Always trying to light that fire. And here I am, swearing I won't go, wishing I could stay, anything to keep from moving on, from falling to the wayside, trying to remain first in your heart.

I'm realizing how far we've come since we were thirteen, how much has changed, how much we've grown up, how much we have changed, how much this place was meant for living and then for moving out, how much we needed our wising up, our growing up, our growing apart.

So here I am, leaving, being left, another day to cut me down, thinking maybe my heart is giving up on all this abuse. I miss you all. I always have. I always will. And I've never really blamed you. I'm always dreaming that you could be mine, and I could be yours, and really mean it.