Et in Arcadia ego

 it's rainy and gross outside tonight. and depressing.
 it makes me smile, actually, because it's just so fitting for the mood i find myself in. when people say they can feel the rain in their bones, the rain just makes me feel like i've lived too many lives. dramatic but descriptive.
im feeling weary and worn. im remembering things that may have happened. at some point, somewhere. maybe to me? good or bad. it's hard to pinpoint exactly. or maybe it isn't since im feeling it. sigh.

i wrapped some presents and did an awful job, but justified it with the fact it's just going to get ripped apart in a little over a week, and put them under the tree i decorated while muttering hatefully under my breath. i hate christmas. this is such a pain in the ass. why can't there be booze in my soynog? oh, that's right.
 anything to distract myself. something to help make me feel how i think i should be. wait- how i want to be? what i should be right now. something.
 i started up a 2nd round of kombucha, which i think is delicious now, but 4 years ago i tried to mix it with vodka at a music festival. it didn't go so well, and as a public service i'll just tell you it's a terrible idea. i convinced myself that it was the kombucha's fault.
 i had a lovely conversation with my husband on the phone, looking back 7 years ago i was heartbroken by a boy who didn't treat me right, but i loved him anyways. i screamed "i'll never get married!!!! fuck love!" from the rooftops drunkenly.i remember this only because i got in trouble with the cops.

later this week im going to Alaska for a few days. im practically bursting at the seams to see something new, even though it was just recently i decided AK sounded like a neat place to visit.

since i've been with my husband, i travel by plane on average 8+ times per year. in the past 14 years i've only been on a plane sober ~4 times.

life changes become more apparent after you've made a major one and have commited to it. the longest i've held a sobriety prior to this was 89 days. every single one of those days, i woke up crying but didn't tell a soul. i would put makeup on my face and force myself to smile, because that's what sober people do, right? they smile? they're like, all happy and shit?  it was my new lie, but at least this one looked nicer than the other ones.
 on the 90th day i celebrated with whiskey drinks and laughed because of course i couldn't make it a full 90. not me. i did a really good job though, and earned all 10 of those drinks. and the wine i was going to give someone as a gift. and the forgotten bottle of gin in the back of the freezer.
 the hangover reminded me i really wasn't so special after all.

i feel like im going through puberty again. i don't understand my body. a bravado to mask this insecurity, which is becoming fleeting, thank god. im forgetful and clumsy. i cry too much. i leave burners on and talk out of turn. social cues are hard.
i can't even remember what gifts i got everyone now that they're wrapped. no idea.
i've kept all of my journals since middle school. i stopped writing over 5 years ago, and i don't know why.
wait, yes i do.
.....i think i do.
wait.
maybe the point was to not remember.

and now a momento mori from myself. 11 years ago effective 1/1/15.

"i realized, days ago actually, that even though i hate life in the throws of depression, and love every second of it in the embrace of my mania, it is indeed this unstable state of my being that i have learned to depend on, and love. there are things out there that are good, and beautiful and pure. i am reminded of this daily by the things and people i choose to surround myself with. stay thankful, and understanding. things will be ok, katy. you'll see"

was this written for me now? do i still mean this? did i ever? why did i randomly pick up this journal yesterday and have this page fall to my feet?

my blur.
my memories.
my past lives, living inside of my bones.