My life and my emotions and my view of self - they have all been in such a state of flux that I have found it hard to make journal entries here. I still think of this blog as a daily ledger of what I am up to. I want to change this blog to being a place where I write about my progress (or lack of progress) over longer spans of time. For now, this is where I write sometimes. I'm comfortable with that.
I'm living in Philadelphia with my friend Nielle. She's in the military traveling to places where they put her to work building things and whatnot. When she is home, we hang out. When my watch beeps, she knows that it is 7:21pm. I'm not adhering to the rule where I write what I was up to at 7:21pm, but a good solid handful of times, I was hanging out with Nielle.
It's Nielle's house here that I'm living in. I'm watching the two cats while she is in Lithuania. For the last two weeks while she's been gone, I've been watching the table surfaces get cluttered, and the kitchen floor get dirtier. I'm taking note of the shit that I want to get together so her house is nice again when she returns next week. I am attempting to respect her place because she is rad. And she got me to join a kickball team that starts soon - and getting outside is important.
I haven't been getting outside as much as I should. I've been drinking a lot of beer, and sitting on a lot of couch. I've spent too many hours at the corner bar, which isn't all bad, but is certainly problematic. I'm floating through life, chipping away at savings from money my parents just basically handed to me with no strings attached. It doesn't make me feel great about myself to be blowing that windfall on beer, and making shorter the time before I need to know how I will make some fresh money of my own. I need to be making money, or keeping my savings safer if I am traveling for the winter - which I most certainly am.
I'm fine. I've been up and down. I've been having some discomfort with feeling like my body is not mine. I don't always feel like I am the entity controlling this mass of flesh and guts called "Chris Harne." At best I have been in the control tower trying to facilitate a crash landing without fatalities. Or maybe I have been behind a curtain, trying to prod the body with a stick. Drinking helps... up to a point. Logic tells me that these feelings will ebb. Experience informs my logic. Currently, I am pretending to have earth beneath my feet, while I am more keenly aware of floating through outer space.
At times like these I try to give whatever "myself" is absolute full credit for getting literally anything done at all.
