My secret sun-soaked salamander,
I just found this letter on a thumb drive amidst notes on the American culture war. Not really related, but somehow seemingly fitting. I thought it was rather appropriate considering my newly gained freedom. Which, I should add, has been pretty blissfully bitchin. Unbeknownst to noone, I have accumulated entirely too much stuff, but the more I put away and organize, the more the walls seem to close in around me. Would it seem bigger if there were less stuff? My guess is no, just less lived-in; less like a cozy home with a heart and soul.
I'd like to explore why I have so much crap and insist on clinging to certain things that have no obvious value or practical use. I'm sure it stems from my childhood experience of living like a nomad and possessing little more than I could carry in both arms.

Written around early March:
"My spicy burrito baby,
I confess: I’m slipping into old habits and my lax response time is simply unacceptable. I admit my delay is not unrelated to my recent romantic developments. It consumes my thoughts more than those substances which previously controlled my mind.
Last night, I had a late dinner of spicy Jambalaya and was actually more excited than worried of what horrible doomed nightmares would come. Instead, I had a strange jumbled dream of a sort of informal gathering. The setting was combinations of rooms & spaces around picayune & the characters were mostly old friends & acquaintances from highschool. I remember climbing in and out of a window onto the top of a bunkbed that sometimes doubled as a tree-fort.
My ex was there sort of distractedly, the way ex’s seem to sometimes float around parties. We successfully avoided conversation for a while without seeming like we were trying to, until later on, when he came and sat next to me on the top bunk. I don’t remember exactly what was said, but I think the consensus was that we were both happy & agreed it was silly that we could just decide like that and make happiness for one another after all the confusion, anger, loathing and sadness. Then again, this all happened in my head… soo… who knows. I did wake up with more calm & reassured, thinking about him, than I have in a while. It was a feeling comparable to closure & I only hope that whatever he dreams he had last night left the same impression.
In the same mindfulness of closure, I decided to draft a letter to another ex to brave the waters that have long since been calmed with the passage of time. In doing so, I realized how difficult it was to just get the trapped thoughts out without feeling like there were some expectations attached. The truth is, I don’t want anything but to get it out there.
Upon waking to the harsh reality of lazy and perpetually drugged roommates, I found a mountain of disgusting dishes and the fact that the liquid clothes detergent had fallen into open container of cat food put me over the edge. I went to rinse out the food container in the inaccessible sink; I instead brought the broad plastic bottom down hard into the sink, breaking a plate & a few wine glasses. In my most recent visit to my therapist, a familiar update sheet asked me how well I’d been getting along in all the important areas of life: academic, social, familial, etc. I mentioned a strong urge to harm someone else in regard to those horrible people I live with. All of my free thoughts are consumed with how blissful living alone will be and how much happier my life will be when this is reality. Being realistic, all of the worst troubles I face currently center on an unsatisfactory home life. I like the house okay & the location is wonderful, the trouble is just sharing it with two really repulsive people I barely perceive as being human. I’m conflicted because I know they mean well & really want nothing more than for my absolute happiness. I know they don’t realize what makes them so irresponsible in my eyes; the way children can’t understand why their actions are sometimes socially unacceptable. Comparing them to children only goes so far, because the fact is they are adults. Adults with poorly developed superegos, but fully grown adults, nonetheless.
I know my anger is misplaced & it’s not fair to get so angry about things they do if they don’t know there’s a problem. It doesn’t change anything and it certainly doesn’t help me cope better, but damn it felt good. Almost immediately I felt some relief for all that had built up. The more I am out of the house, the worse it gets when I get home."

Since then, my thoughts are consumed less with my intimate engagement, while my beloved and our relationship is more important than ever. Since I am no longer so burdened with room mates, I don't look past myself for an escape.
My recent birthday brought me full circle, back to the people and places that I knew and occupied in my past life. I saw a lot of the people from the dream, still doing their old thing and being rather content with the degree of change in their life. At first, I felt so removed from this old scenario that I started to realize how much I was completely changed by my experiences. We opened the window to the past, but I was unable to fit through it, nor was I sure I'd want to. Not only was I so far from this past in which I really didn't like who I was, but through the window, it looked mostly unchanged. After a while of settling in and remembering what it was really like without thinking or doing anything, my two selves merged and it felt like one of those unrealistic "if I only knew then what I know now" scenarios.Not surprisingly, my ex was not there. Even less surprisingly, I never sent that letter I drafter to the earlier ex. About a week after I started it, I found we were no longer "friends" on a particular networking site. I doubt I will ever send it for fear that it will illicit laughter and disgust.
Ironically, a few weeks ago, I saw the ex who was at the dream party outside of the coffee shop. He casually said "Hey," which I answered with an "..." Later, I got a text from him suggesting we 'do coffee sometime,' which is obviously a euphemism since neither of us drink coffee, really. Nice thought, but the last text he ever sent was literally "you're dead to me." While less deeply offended and hurt than just plain amused, it made an impression and stuck. A friend and I agreed, no response would be the best response as anything else would open up the lines/wounds.
I thought of the letter I began drafting to the other ex. What if my reaction was similar to what his would be? Would that be so awful? Would no response to an attempt be better than not making the attempt..?? Is getting it out there and rejected better than keeping it in with an implied rejection??
Does anyone know or care to know the answers to these questions?
The entrails of my mind are tangled around the affections I feel for the world.
My heart is on fire with it's death and desire. Who knew that wicked bitch mother nature could be so forgiving?

Confidently growing in the direction of the sun,
Anacoe Narcissus