ok so it's like this:

i am in a familiar house with all familiar people and familiar objects, but my relationship with the very space around me, the very way in which i draw a breath, the way my feet feel on floors and the way i'll lean against a doorframe, how i look at the lights and what the words mean when i think about them ... all these have changed.

on friday after gorgeous party w/ the vinz et al, i had my brother pick me up, sunburned and weepy and lost. he lives in ohio and we've never been close. his humor is dry and he doesn't wear his heart like a badge (as i do, and as my oldest brother does), but here he showed me great gentleness, let me pick the music, told me stories, asked if i was okay, took my to my parents' house.

m&d were waiting up for me and clutched me in the dark while i tried to explain through wine and tears that the world is throbbing like a heart about to burst.

saturday we went to the house on telegraph road and this is the house i know best in the world. this house has been my only constant throughout my entire life. my godparents, i realize, are the keepers of the only place i can call home. and all day i kept to myself, reading, looking at the strangers who call me by my name. few people disturbed me. i was dressed in high style, perfect, and i sat apart in my summertime perfection, i was summer. untouchable. i was the spirit of something. i was the backdrop. i was not missed.

sleep in fits.

i have three weeks to put myself in order.