proteanme

Rain and trees. Trees and rain. Oh, Portland, please don’t start your rainy season yet.

It’s strange how easy it is to get back in the swing of things here. Get on my bike, ride to work, go to the store, buy some food, do the laundry, wash the dishes, pay the bills. Just kinda pick up where I left off, more or less. Even though that’s not what I want to do. I can’t quite articulate exactly what I want to do or what’s missing. I know it’s not as easy as moving to New York, which would not be easy at all. Anyway, I can’t quite sum up the thing that feels off inside. It’s like a crack in a fault line, maybe. Although that sounds too dramatic. Maybe it’s just that it takes a long time to figure oneself out and that’s what happening to me. I’m figuring myself out. I think I’ve said all this before. Alot. Before my dad died.