Kiana

Too often I find myself lounging around and scrolling past hundreds of Instagram squares, sleeping, waking up, yawning, and sleeping some more. Now that the warmth of summertime is here, and is actually nearing its end, I’m watching myself slink back into my natural state of rest-unrest. It’s weird, really, when at times I find myself yearning for a boost of endorphins (this is the part where I beg myself to go out and run), and then I’m suddenly hit by this wave-like laziness, which keeps me brooding for days.

It was last week when I initiated a daily running and jogging routine with an old pal from high school, having found my solitary running hours bleak and lonely. It’s also a coincidental plus that said pal just told me that she is trying to get back into shape after, what, a year of snoozing through alarms. Well, as they say, so far so good. We walked a shitload of miles four days ago, and did not stop until our bones felt like the insides of a man suffering from heartburn, until I protested and told her we should rest. The next day I woke up with bones that ached too loudly, which I sort of liked because I can play pretend that I’m hurt as I walk down the street wincing, giving rude men (and men, in general) the worst time of their lives, because, yes, that’s right, women feel pain, SO WHATCHU GONNA DO BUT LOOK AND LOVE ME AT MY WORST, etc. I’m becoming a li’l trickster, maybe, but for me it’s that I’m allowing myself this bit of craziness, this space to expand and thrive.

I’m sitting by the window as I write this with the sun sinking into the horizon, giving off a glow that only the sun can emit. Spectacular. Thirty minutes into writing this, the atmosphere changes, along with the light dimming and the air getting chiller as night approaches. I will be visiting my little old hometown the day after tomorrow. The thought fills me with a tingling excitement and an actual tingling, electric chill down the sides of my legs. The latter is a new sensation I felt three weeks ago, and I’m yet to consult WebMD about it. Anyway, the day after tomorrow, I’ll be on a bus bound to where all the monsters lurk. Wish me luck, my darlings, the luck-est of lucks.

P.S. I’d need books in order to survive the dread of my old hometown so I’m letting you know beforehand, in case my decisions change two days from now, that I’ll be bringing Charles Bukowski, Roland Barthes, and Virginia Woolf (my talisman) with me. ♦