Sad-eyed lady

I have been following people around portland all night, from one place to another with a stop for mentos and beer (never buy beer at plaid pantry), from a lame party to chasing mouse across the ross island bridge to a house in southeast and while it feels like a story, it is one I am too incoherent to tell beyond this outline.

not from drink, no. I am too responsible for that. from tiredness, from the perfection of one taco bell bean burrito scarfed down in the parking lot on southeast fifty-somethingthingth street.

I didn't feel out of place, tonight.

"tuesday," says my friend. "afterhours."

a night like tonight is everything and nothing at all, even on so little sleep.

so please. clear my head. or solidify. because I feel wrong in one way or the other, otherwise, all the time, and the faces muddle and I know that somewhere is the right choice but the cups keep moving like a sidewalk trick and I can't move my eyes that fast.

Y introduces me, "this is molly. she lives in eugene. she's from new york too," and when her awkward acquaintance meanders away, I tell her how I was always reluctant to claim that title for my own, like i'd be some kind of fraud, but now it's home, whenever I speak of such. "it's a state of mind," she says, and I know my reluctance is foolish.

someday, i'll be homeward bound.

for now, it's another kind of home I have in mind.

(I have to learn to let these grandiose meanderings about next week next month next year focus on me. not how you you or you figure into them.)