No one does it like you.

Sorry I haven't been writing as much as usual. This week was fiddle fever camp and I've basically been coming home and dying of exhaustion every night. I never realized how nocturnal I am until this week. I get the vast majority of my texts and invites to places and things between the hours of 9 pm and 3 am. It's a little ridiculous. I still think I prefer living at night to the day though, no matter how many days that takes off of my life span. The sun sucks. Everything looks better at night and for some reason I feel less heavy.

This week has made me realize how much I really missed violin and fiddling and my music. It's such an important part of me and nobody usually even knows that I play. And I'm fucking good. When I move to Richmond I need to find some people to make music with. I imagine this won't be too hard.

I'm finally fully recovered from the poison ivy! There's a little bit left on my stomach and fingers but the vast majority of it is gone. I have some scars. Oh well. War wounds. Life with steroids sucks, and life without it sucks more. One of those lessons you have to learn the hard way. Our bodies attack themselves.

I feel like I've been operating on autopilot a lot lately. It's safer that way. I'm waiting for the next disaster, collecting my tears inside of me. Things between us are uneasy and frustrating and twingey. Like PMS kind of, when you feel bad and restless and achey and you almost never guess why until it's too late. That was kind of a weird gross example, sorry.

My heart is still numb. I hope one day it will unthaw from it's encasement of bitterness and weariness. I'm not going to worry about it too much right now. 

I only hope that maybe when man walked the earth as two, when we got separated, little pieces of us scattered everywhere, and not everything is just in one person. 

You make me feel things I've never felt before and I feel I will never have again. I hope I can prove myself wrong.

 No one does it like you- Department of Eagles