steps of man.

My poor, neglected blog. I've come to think of it as a person, a friend to whom I cryptically confess things that I've worked over in my mind, but a friend that doesn't have anything to say back. I always feel guilty, and responsible as it were, to my journal when I don't write in it. I realized the other day (while washing my hair in the shower) that that guilt I feel when I don't take the time to scrape all of this off of the inside of my skull and onto the keyboard is guilt towards what I'm not keeping track of for my future self. Inevitably in a year or maybe two, I'll want to look back at this and see that I neglected to keep track of the past two months.

A lot has happened- I spent a week in West Palm Beach, recharging. Honestly, like a hungry sponge I just reveled in sun and warm air and salt water and beer (lots and lots and LOTS of beer) and love. Comfort and love were abounding- I slept in a small room with my favorite people in the world, and didn't even have perspective until after I'd gotten back about just how much I needed that break. In the planning phases, Whitney and I knew that we were getting burned out and that we needed a break, but I don't think either of us knew just how much we needed to live, even if for four days, without any real responsibilities. At any rate, it was lovely. I miss it everyday.

I moved to Charleston- I'm here there now. I work for a theatre company teaching (alot) and acting (alot), and it's rewarding and tiring and altogether near perfect. Apologies for using the cliche, but Charleston really is a beautiful city. The view from my new apartment downtown is amazing- a harbor which houses the yachts and sailboats of very rich people, and the sun sets in my living room window, which makes the room orange and red and purple every evening that isn't cloudy. There are hundreds of fantastic restaurants in town which I've begun to scope out, there's history and charm and seabreezes. There is also, unfortunately, a horribly oppressive spectrum of heat and humidity. I hear from locals though the everything is much better, much prettier, and much more bearable come October.

I have begun meeting people, vining out socially and giving out kernels (only ever small and brightly colored baubles) of self, establishing my type and my grit (or relative lack thereof), making my habits and attributes and stripes apparent and clear. I have met some wonderful people and grown close to them quickly. I've created a pattern, tested it, and know that it works. I'm safe, but far and guarded. What can one do when walking foreign land? My mother emails and I don't respond- such a statement bears no meaning to anyone here.

I don't suppose that I have much else specific to say. I'm sorry for abandoning this here page. I hope it's forgiven me.

After all, who will shut all of these windows? It's these windows who are telling me to cleanse my dirty mind of all of its preciousness.