emily (voiceofyoureyes) wrote,

"After the late failure of radical hopes."

I know that LA is supposed to be smoggy and disgusting, but the air in my backyard is one of the most delightful things I have smelled in ages. Even when I want to panic slightly and have trouble breathing, I can't; I just keep inhaling slowly and steadily and wondering how it is, exactly, that I got here.

But it's good to be here. After two weeks of living in other people's worlds (still at swat, then in new york, then portland), I am solidly back in mine. Spent the day talking with parents and drinking tea, reading on the back porch and now that it's slightly cooler inside with the window flung open. Airports all day yesterday left me feeling like I had no idea of how my body worked, but a full night's sleep and a few well-timed plums have done everything to change that. Other things have maybe started to make sense too: like why "Herzog" is an incredible book, and my plans for the summer (Dutton's with the possibility of adventures and various forms of "self-improvement"). Little things, yes, but worth it right now.
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