29 June 2014
Pride is my favorite New York City parade. It goes right by my apartment building. To me, it's the best, most-inclusive celebration all year. There's this pure, unadulterated feeling of joy. Everywhere. And so many beautiful people.
I spent most of yesterday in sort of a codeine haze. I've been mildly sick for about six weeks—terrible sore throat, gross cough—and my doctor prescribed me some codeine to help me sleep. Life's been pretty hectic for the past three months, and yesterday everything came to a head. There were feelings I just didn't want to feel anymore, so I shut myself in and slept all day. It was the right decision to just stop everything, close shop for 24 hours, reset.
Bookstore revelations. This morning I got up, got a coffee at Toby's, and looked at books for an hour at the Strand Annex. I was reading the Courtney Love forward in Scott Lipps' photobook (I didn't even know he had a book) when I realized I've been, like, dead for three months. What's happened to me? Maybe I've been holding onto a toxic relationship this whole time because, beyond that drama, I haven't felt a single feeling or experienced anything visceral since March.
God, I miss fashion. Sometimes, okay, all the time, I forget lessons I've previously learned. The fact is, there's only one very specific world and one very specific group of people with who I feel like I fit in. Everything happens for a reason, but I know I'll need to find my way back to that space, somehow. Maybe I have to build it around me, myself.