I always wanted to be a good writer, but my sister was always better. I think she cared about it before I did. I don't know what I cared about before I cared about this. I didn't write it down. I don't know what I was like before I was like this. I probably never will.
My sister will probably always be a better writer than me. That's okay. I kind of like my clunky way of putting words together, the same way I kind of like blurry photos, or noise when you're trying to sleep, or unwashed hair. Things dirty and raw.
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Today I purposely left my coat at home ("home") just so I could feel the cold walking to the library. I want to feel everything deeply. Everyone I talk to loves the fall. I get it--gold may be nature's first green but it also seems to be her last. Everything outside is golden and and bright and sharp. I like the changing of the trees because it gives the world a heightened sense of noticing. The tree I pass by every day looks different, which makes me look differently at the way the sun shines right down Sheridan, reflecting off the street and facing right toward the lake, like two lovers caught in each other's gaze. I notice the way the rain pools together on the roof outside my window-- the view I once I hated but now find an odd comfort in. I notice the way shadows fall in a room, the way a boy always looks back to make sure I haven't wandered off again. Something about changing that makes us realize things that stay the same in a new way.
And I like bundling up for the cold that's making its way here. Putting on a hat, or gloves. I do these things delicately, like dressing a child. I'm careful with myself now, I make sure she's warm enough, that she's eating right. I worry about her, but I like the process of taking care of her.
But even so. I can't help but feel the creeping dread of the cold and dark months. I don't do well without the warmth of the sun, and I'm afraid I will feel even more keenly the absence of those I love too well when I can escape outside. I realize that this worrying is probably worse than what my actual reality is going to be. It always is. I've always been dramatic, a story-teller, in that way. I remind myself almost nothing is as bad or going to be as bad as I imagine it will be. This means many things.
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I've been climbing more. I've already gotten stronger, you can tell in my arms. I wish strength was something I'd valued before. I wonder what I would have been like if I kept at sports. I know such what-ifs are useless, especially because if I kept with sports I wouldn't have done theater and the very thought of never knowing that joy fills my eyes with tears.
Still. I wish I was stronger. I can't help but get frustrated by where I'm at, compared to everyone else. I remind myself they're years ahead of me, if they haven't been climbing for years then they've been working out for twice that time. It drives me to be better, and I've gotten better! I can do almost any V0 and some V1's. I'll work on top roping next. I want to be strong.
And in the meantime, I love climbing. Of going higher, going above. Lifting myself. And I love the people I meet there. Sage and Nikko and Kara and Jackson and Cabrini and Hannah and yeah even Josh. I like talking to regulars, who know everything. I like pretending I know everything to new people. I like helping do something that scares the hell out of them. Sometimes when I go up the top rope I think to myself how amazing it is that I can even carry myself off the ground at all. I trace my fingers over the blisters on my hands, a mark on my body of what I am capable of.
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I think my favorite times are times I spend by myself on purpose. Which makes the times I'm so lonely seem stupid. I wondered today as I walked through Andersonville if I liked the neighborhood because I thought it was beautiful, or if it was because it reminded of Brookeside a little bit. Its stupid now, they actually look nothing alike. Its all Chicago brick and alleyways. But the way the houses hugged each other, I don't know.
I'm going home for the first time in two days and it couldn't come at a better time. I miss my people, and my hometown. I'm a hometown hero, I know it. Kansas City's always gonna have my heart. I read somewhere that in the places where the Mississippi River has been rerouted from, it floods. The River wants to return to itself. I know how it feels. Or its like, trying to swim upstream in a river, no matter how hard you fight against it, the river will always take you back to where its going. Either way, I'm a river.
But a part of me fills with just the tiniest bit of dread. Two weekends ago (three?) I left Chicago for Dayton, Ohio, where my two sisters live. As I stood on the street corner and waited for my ride to pick me up and take me east, my heart turned uneasy. What will I do away from Chicago? I've been here so little time already and already I feel like I can't leave it alone. What if its not the same Chicago as she is now when I come back? (She won't be. Mark Twain was right. She never is.) I don't listen to this band and I don't like this song, but the lyric "There's a light on in Chicago, and I know I should be home." makes my heart reverberate. I'm so in love with Chicago, more than I thought I would be. More than I thought possible.
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