I Was Going to Google It, But I Thought We'd Have a Conversation Instead

I WANTED to document 30 minutes of an amphetamine crash.

5:04 a.m.
These are the most unproductive moments of my life. My heart has never beat so fast, and my eyes have never moved so slow. I'm darting. I'm shaking. I'm drafting notes.

Is this a panic attack?

The sun doesn't rise until 6:38 a.m., did you know that? The fuck is that about? Did you know I'm a little more than a mile from campus, and there's thunder and lightning and rain, and that might make it dark for a little longer? I think it will, and I don't have an umbrella or a hood or an excuse.

No, really, is it?
Hours ago my heart felt like it would swell until it exploded. MY BODY WAS ALL CAPS. I was so excited. I love(d) you all, I want(ed) you to know it. My arms tingled. My thoughts chased after my words, which tumbled carelessly and endlessly out of my mouth, my eyes were bright. I laughed into your collarbone, I told you all how much you meant. Now, alone at 5:09 a.m., an amphetamine rush is only panic. My mouth is dry. I don't want water. I want water. I have to get up for water. No water. Where is my love now, where are my thoughts? I have no more words; the insomnia stole my words. Where are all those whom I've neglected for fear of missing? Where are all those whom I've avoided because they kept calling, unknowingly waiting for my anxiety to subside? Where is everyone now that my hands are shaking and the sun's still hiding and the clock moves two minutes forward only to fall one minute back?
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I think I have effectively broken every basic rule my parents have ever given me. All at once.
I think I look like an asshole when I try to dance like a hipster. I think everyone looks like assholes when they try to dance like hipsters. But I think I do it wrong, so the asshole-ness is extra. Like, I get a gold sticker.
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By the way,

Sorry I stole the sheets from your bed.
Sorry I didn't let you know what was going on. I didn't mean to, or not to.
Sorry I was drunk when you saw me. Sorry I'll be drunk next time you see me. I'm actually only a little sorry, but I know I should be more sorry, so here's my apology.
Sorry I did exactly what I begged you not to months ago. Sorry I cried then. I cry easily; it's a little stupid and a lot embarrassing.
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What if we made fewer confessions and told more truths?
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Sometimes there are nights that disappear into haze. Maybe you forgot what you were on.
Sometimes you wonder where you were all night, and then you wonder where you should have been, and you wonder if you should have been the source of the noise. If you should have been making the floorboards creak and wail with your jumping, if if the walls would have been happier to echo your voice. Entire portions of night disappear. Where did they go? More importantly, where did I go? I think that I stopped existing for just a little. I think I got lost in an alcove; it was pretty dark, y'know?
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I think that I live far away from home, though I don't really know what that means.
Hometown nostalgia tricked me in those last few days, made me think it was real. Made me desperate to be seen before I disappeared. I wanted to be seen. I wanted to be wearing skinny jeans and plaid, I wanted all of you to see how the band of my boxer briefs peeked out the top of my pants. I'M GAY, I wanted you to know. I'M GAY, and I was gay when you knew me, but now I'm not sorry, and no one needs to tell me it's okay and that I'm okay and that high school doesn't really matter, because I always knew those things. It's just that now I believe them.

Leaving was sad. Leaving was final.
They said you'd go to college, and you'd come back, but you'd never come back. I think I'm going a little farther this time.

About that thing, about my parents, about how we fucked it up. We just fucked it up, this thing. That they always saw their lives, secure and prosperous, without lesbian daughters or heartbreaking arguments or silent stalemates. We should have been sad to see each other go; instead, I think we're relieved. How does that thing happen? That thing where your life wasn't what you wanted or expected or believed? Does it happen to our unhappy, middle-aged parents? Or does it happen to us all?
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But hey, what am I scared for? Hey Brandon, didn't we realize today that everything, every moment has already happened at some point in time? All of this has already happened; somewhere it's done. It's just a matter of getting there. I'm worried about 6:38 a.m., but that's okay, because by 7:38, I'll know. It's just a matter of getting to 7:30. Life will just happen until then; we'll get there. We'll know.
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5:33 a.m.
Street lights still glowing orange. Can't tell if it's raining, can't see through the blinds. Weather.com says it's raining. Guess I'll have to trust that. I wonder if, when I get outside in an hour, I'll be trapped between places, locked out of one apartment, a mile away from the next. It's going to be raining, which is too bad, because I wanted to walk along to the sunrise. Maybe I should memorize these directions, just in case the newly inked napkin melts through my fingers on the way.

When Faraway Things Seem Close

This post is long overdue.
Originally intended to be a cross-post with Emily, this was written by both of us at various points throughout the 24 hours leading up to Pride Weekend. Intoxicated and driving around my hometown and the surrounding highways aimlessly, we stopped at a CVS to purchase a notebook. And by that I mean I got nervous, shoved two dollars in Emily's hand, and made her go buy a notebook. I don't think we kept this up as long as we intended. Nevertheless, I present to you the chronicle of two really anxious girls overwhelmed by possibility. And Tegan and Sara a little bit.

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June 26 2009 10:30 pm (Emily)

I GOT INTO Katrina’s house last night at 1 am. I went 24 hours without sleep and woke up at 1 pm.

We drove around Rockland aimlessly listening to Tegan and Sara which was so epic it cannot properly be described. We should ideas and dreams and things that would make us happy. I’m having an I-Thou relationship with the road. The roads in America are all the same.

We have the same idols and we constantly bring the conversation back to autostraddle. We auto-dance. We are auto-hot. We are auto-blazed, auto-drunk. We auto-win.

We don’t know how to get there. All we know is that City Girl is the best Tegan and Sara song and it’s possible to be nowhere and not lost at the same time.

The road is magnificent.
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June 26 2009 10:45 pm (Katrina)

WE'VE BEEN ON the highway searching for the overlook for about 20 minutes. It probably would have been only ten, but as I am probably in no condition to be driving, I’ve been going at a steady 40 mph on a 65. This adds a new element to auto-blazed.

I look over at the clock. 10:40. There is so much night to be had. It reminds me of DC, of the apartment, where we’d be too high on uppers to sleep but too stoned to have a real conversation. It’d be 2:30 and we’d feel like the night was so new. 10:40 is so early and I wonder if this is what it’s like to not know you’re young.

If someone asked me how long I’d been young for, I’d say my whole life. If you asked me when I’d stop being young, I would tell you that’s not up to me. When does one stop being young? Do you wake up and know, or is it something that only occurs in retrospect? And if youth is defined by behaviour, I plan to always be young. If growing up means giving up your voice and forsaking your selfish desires , and well... being no fun, then, regardless of the number of years we've actually been around.. well, I’m gonna be forever young. So suck it, Rod Stewart.
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June 27 2009 1:51 pm (Emily)

DRIVING IN THE CAR with Katrina’s parents. We’re listening to The Clash. My heart was pounding at the beginning, thoughts like “holy shit” kept going through my head and I almost forgot where we were going. To be honest, when “Rudie Can’t Fail” came on I felt relaxed, it was a little sound from home, something familiar. Because everything here is new. Every step I take is one into the unknown and it is both exhilarating and terrifying. In fact the past two days have been exhilarating and terrifying and these next two should be so intense I’m expecting my heart to explode at any time.

Except I’ve got this feeling we’re all in this together and together we can deal with anything.

Katrina joked about me sleeping in the car to avoid questions but now her brother is passed out next to me.

We’re about to get on the highway and it’s end to end traffic. My heart begins to pound again. I just want to get there.

I don’t know if the nerves are from pretending to be from Boston and going to AU or from meeting autostraddle and really Riese really. Both options are plausible.

I am having a heart attack again. We are on Lexington.

2:34 pm we are on the corner of Lexington and 56^th.
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June 27^th 2009 2:44 (Katrina)

WE JUST DROPPED EMILY off at Brooke’s which means we pulled off this incredible charade.

Waking up at a quarter to noon and laying on top of the sheets listening to “City Girl” on repeat, we knew we wouldn't be this still again.

Tegan and Sara were singing about me when they said “I know you’re scared even though you say that you’re not”. They know this as I try to stride confidently through my house in my baptism-ready dress and heels, sending secretive, self-assured smirks to Emily, trying to convince her we’ll make it through the car ride.

We will, and we do. Off I go to the house of God.

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Also, if you just read that and thought to yourself, "Well that was cool, but I'd prefer it as a stoner comedy," here's a badly edited video that was never really supposed to see the light of day, due to its bad jokes and continual breathless laughter over nothing.

I'm working on a lot of things right now. While you wait anxiously for them, check out how the rest of this weekend turned out by clicking my link at the top or reading Emily's exceptionally beautiful coverage of the same event. You could also do both.