Juice.

It went well.
Of course it did, I was foolish to think it wouldn’t.

I slept badly last night. Tortured by dreams that I couldn’t escape from, I woke to find myself in an uneasy melancholy. Apparently, I was talking in my sleep all night. I’m upset by something, I know what, and I don’t know how to let it go except to give it time.
Time. Screw time and feelings. I hate not knowing what other people are thinking. I hate wishing I could have something I can’t. I hate that I had it for just a second before life got in the way.

I drove downtown this morning to make sure that Emily got to her law school open house alright and realized how much this city has meant to me. In a strange way, I belong in Chicago. I’ve never loved Loyola, but I’ve loved Chicago. I have a fascination with the train. I still love the train. There’s something so raw and unguarded about it, something so connected and yet so fragile and broken. You are forced to sit around people you don’t like, forced to interact, or merely to react to the those around you. It’s beautiful. It’s dirty. It smells. It’s so satisfying and so stressfully slow. I love to sit with a book, lost for half an hour until I feel the train start to descend past Fullerton, the slide into the tunnel. Then the darkness comes and the rattling is somehow magnified by the proxomity of the walls.

But what is home? Everyone’s moving back and forth and here and there, and I’ve realized that as much as I’d like to stay here, for awhile, I can’t. I want to be in Colorado, to start my life there. Even though the city begs me to stay, I’m afraid if I do, I’ll never leave. I can’t fathom the idea of trying to raise children in a city like Chicago, and although it would be a wonderful place to get my social work grounding, I’d prefer to start my career somewhere comfortable.

Blegh, another blog with no purpose, only rambling. Perhaps the morning can bring a sweeter sleep?

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