ten august
one : twenty-one a.m.

i have wasted so much time being upset. i have wasted so much time sitting around, pitying myself, crying because things will never get better.

from nausea by jean-paul sartre:

"It was wonderful two years ago: all I had to do was close my eyes and my bed would start buzzing like a bee-hive: I could conjure faces, trees, houses, a Japanese girl in Kamaishiki washing herself naked in a wooden tub, a dead Russian, emptied of blood by a great, gaping wound, his blood in a pool beside him. I could recapture the taste of kouskouss, the smell of olive oil which fills the streets of Burgos at noon, the scent of fennel floating through the Tetuan streets, the piping of Greek shepherds; I was touched. This joy was used up a long time ago. Will it be reborn today?"

i want to smell the olive oil and the fennel. i want to visit my relatives in italy and collect eggs from their chickens and bake bread in their oven. i want to travel. i want to see everything, feel everything, experience all that i can.

i want change.