Sometime in 2007

I love to take long walks, by myself, after midnight. There is nothing as serene as a lifeless suburban neighborhood in the dead of night. I'll stop, sometimes, at Terra Linda Elementary School for a cigarette or a brief ride on the swings. I force myself to focus on the present, on the stillness of every sound and the gentle, chilly wind against my skin, or on the smoke contrails from my cigarette, illuminated by the streetlight. The twisting, flowing patterns of smoke, in the right light, in the right frame of mind, are unique and beautiful, a natural chemical reaction moving with balletic grace. The smoke can look exactly like a Van Gogh painting, if you let it.

I'll walk into the adjacent neighborhood though the overgrown switchgrass that frames Saltzman. I'll stand far away from the passing cars and close my eyes, until I hear ocean waves crashing ashore. The timed indoor lights click off in many houses at the exact moment I pass. *click. click. I can pretend to conduct the lighting, waving my arms in a silly fashion, hoping that no one sees me. Just live in the present, I tell myself.

I haven't gone camping or hiking or mountain biking in some time. I regret that. But the natural world is alien to me, in some ways. This place, with its' soulless homes and inefficient use of land, is what I've acclimated myself to. This is my outdoors, my nature . This is home.

The Netherlands feels like home to me, too. So does Ashland, despite the short amount of time I spent there. Now, I'm going to have to find home among my extended family, in the California desert, while my mother's mother slowly starves herself. It has only been a year since the man she married, the man she lived with for over 50 years, passed away, and I can only guess what a terrible hole that must leave in anyone's heart. Given my maternal relatives' well documented struggles with... melancholy, we'll call it, it is no surprise that she's clinically depressed.

Why, I am but one in a long tradition of half-mad and mad people. I love the story of my great-great grandfather, who was once extraordinarily wealthy, owning much of the land and timber rights in Washington State. Then, out of nowhere, he decided he wanted to be a dairy farmer. He gave most of his assets away and moved to some ass-backwards place near Spokane, dragging his whole family with him. Soon thereafter, his beloved wife died, and in his grief he decided to sell the dairy farm and live as a transient, as penance for his sins. That was when my great-grandmother got married to the first person she could find, at age 14. Her husband was something like 27 years her senior.

I feel incredibly lucky I have no land rights to give away, actually. That is the sort of thing I can see myself doing.

I escape all my baggage with my solitary night-walks, and I hope I can continue this tradition in the high desert. I know this move is the right thing to do, unequivocally so. After my grandfather died last May, I was shocked by his accomplishments in his life. I never knew him as an adult, as someone more than the guy who would always buy me candy whenever I saw him, the old man absolutely fascinated by my Playstation even though he never quite figured out how to work it (he could never remember to press the 'accelerate' button whenever we played racing games together)... even though I had the opportunity, I squandered it. Now, I have the training another opportunity to learn who my family is, with another grandparent, and like hell I'm letting this slip though my fingers.

I'm getting scared that I will never finish college, with all these breaks and diversions and transfers. I take some solace knowing that I almost certainly would have flunked out by now were I to have attended school like a normal person. I got fired from "Bed Bath & Beyond," for Christ's sake. That is somewhat difficult to manage. You really got work at it to get fired there. But the 'traditional' approach hasn't worked too well either. Last year, I was miserable. I tried to hide away in my apartment, doing my best to ensure I made no friends in Eugene. It got to the point that I was stockpiling lithium and seroquel, "just in case" I felt the need to off myself. Fate intervened, my family didn't have enough money to pay for two kids in school at the same time, and it was too late to apply for a loan, and I came back home. Most likely saved me some serious trouble and medical costs.

I want to delete the above passage, but I shouldn't. I have to keep myself honest by presenting it as it was to a select few. I would be surprised if there were any men less stoic than I am.

After I got back from my walk last night, I fell asleep, exhausted. This was around 1:45 AM. The cat got into my room at about 4:15 AM.