it's sunny

but I'm broke, and sad, and don't feel like I have a home in the United States anymore.

However, I just got this text message (all spelling/grammar mistakes left in tact):
"Hey yo I work 70 hrs a week lately and I have to be up in six and I have no earthly idea what time it is wherver you may be but I'm falling asleep listenint to mew and I thought of you hope all is well miss ya"

Baldrian

I slept a whole night through last night. I was completely astounded when I woke up and it was light outside.

My eyes are swollen and red. My mind is misty, completely unclear. I'm trying to combat it by eating really well today. I made a delicious smoothie this morning; so stoked I thought to freeze strawberries the other day. I'm probably headed to the Turkish Market today to purchase more ingredients for smoothies or soups. Liquids are great.

11110000101011110000

Early 20s are often pushed aside in favor of teens when considering life's hardest ages. When you're a teenager, it's supposed to be hard because you feel like an adult, but don't actually have any of an adult's rights. You're also supposed to be figuring out who you are, blah blah blah, finding your place in the world, all that shit you hear about all the time.

How about the early 20s? You fluctuate between feeling like a child and feeling completely grown up. Between thinking you are completely independent, and knowing you need others. You still have to figure out all of the same stuff you did as a teenager, but because you're out of high school, the pressure's really on. And if you're lucky enough to have parents who are willing to support you, that willingness begins to wane the moment you leave high school. One of the worst parts is that the way other people treat you is completely unpredictable. They give fuck all about how old you feel, and treat you in ways as varied as... can't think of anything right now, but it's really inconsistent. People usually respect your decisions if they think you're making the right one, but as you're still considered a sort of sub-group of adult, almost no one has any trouble contesting the things you say. No one trusts you, and why should they? There's an enormous possibility that you're going through a feeling-like-a-kid phase and should be talked out of it.

I'm not having the easiest time. I'm scared and lonely.

I'm a huge fan of Mitfahrgelegenheit. I don't know if I've explained this to my beautiful friends at home yet, so I will proceed:
Mitfahrgelegenheit is essentially the same premise as CouchSurfing, except instead of a place to sleep, people provide others with transportation. Actually, the mission statement of CouchSurfing has something to do with bringing the world together, and I don't think Mitfahr is that ambitious. CouchSurfing is also free. Hm. Anyway, what actually happens is that you hop into a stranger's car and hope for the best.
The first time I used this website, I rode to Baden-Baden with four other people. No one spoke to each other, and the guy was a relatively safe driver, I guess, but only because nothing bad actually happens because of speed alone. I drove with the same dude on the way back from Baden (a strange coincidence), and he beckoned me into the front seat and we talked for about an hour. After I had the realization that he was kind of boring, I had an even more paralyzing realization: when you've started a car ride talking to the person next to you, there's no real good time to put your headphones on.
Last time, I drove to Berlin from Konstanz with two of the hugest stoners ever, who listened thrice to the same Police album. Thrice. Thrice, we almost got into accidents. Thrice, the guy in the passenger side screamed, "AAAAAALLLLLLTTTTTAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA".
Sunday, I'm going to drive with another dude. I think he's Turkish, but I couldn't tell exactly from his accent. Excitement will hopefully not ensue.

Consistency is key!

Consistent with the pattern of my life, I feel completely different than when I last wrote. I feel wonderful, actually. Last night, I got out of the house and went with Laura to see The Spinto Band in Prenzlauerberg. One reason it was awesome was that we were actually home before midnight. It was also relatively cheap, and a pretty small venue, nice for a concert of this sort. The reason we were home so early was, well... that's just what happens when you don't really give a shit about the headlining band. I just felt so lucky to be there, because I looked up their tour dates on a complete whim two days ago. I have great luck sometimes.

Good mood may also stem from the hours I've spent sitting in the kitchen with my roommates, looking up songs that we want to sing together on Saturday. I'm not clear on the details, but it seems like someone's friend owns a bar, and there's some weird sort of karaoke thing that we're doing, but with a live band behind us. We're singing a bunch of German drinking songs, dressed very chic, and singing in nice voices. That's the current plan, anyway.

The bathroom has been occupied for almost three hours. What the hell?

I bought a pumpkin a few days ago at the Turkish Market, and now I'm looking up ways to prepare it to be cruelly mashed and turned into Pumpkin-Ginger bisque. I'm kind of inventing the recipe, so we'll just see how it turns out. I'll take pictures, I'm sure, since I'm really obsessed with photographing my meals for some reason.

Even though I haven't really been a productive human being in the traditional sense (i.e. having a job, etc.), I feel productive. Mostly because I have birthday presents for both Hannah (who is coming to Berlin next week), and Florian (who I am going to visit this weekend).

Anti Fiction

My lips are lonely with only my teeth to touch.

Spied on.

Something's getting lost. Can that really happen, though, when there was nothing there to begin with? Maybe I am just realizing for REAL real that there is nothing to grasp onto. I want to link fingers with something and feel every single one, know it's really there. I want someone to pull me towards them, lean my forehead against theirs, and slap me until either I cry or look into their eyes knowingly and smile at the absurdity. My face needs to be touched, the spaces under my eyes are lonely without fingers to graze them.

There's an untouched vodka standing next to my bed. Should I? Shouldn't I? Should I? Shouldn't I?

Who knows if these contents are actual or fictional?

I am an abuser of the Repeat button.

and this is the current subject: