November 20, 2012


photo credit: greg, brooklyn heights, "during sandy," 2012, instagram edits by me

I'm not going to claim any semblance of life understanding at this point in time. Even if I had it slightly in my hand, it would still have me confused, and I'd still rattle it in my palm like an 8-ball looking for the right answers..."KB, will you be happy that you left NYC?" (8-ball: "Remains to be seen.") Fuck. This is nuts.

I have a shit ton to say. And evidently in this post cursing like a sailor is running its course...apologies out to the wide wide world of family-zone/clean blogging. I'm in a mood.

It's Tuesday, November um...close to Thanksgiving, oh, 20...and I've been eyes wide open for over 2 hours now. My body is NOT cooperating with me and not giving me the relaxed "sleep by the open window with a cool November breeze blowing over you, girl" activity...or, "inactivity," as it were, kind of event that I require at the moment. I'm restless, emotional. Explosive. Lethargic. All at once; I know, how can that be?

So I am moving to Los Angeles. I am. It's in full motion, happening at such break neck speed that I want to stop the train and jump off for a coffee or something.

Just to note my schedule, to illustrate what I mean by "break neck speed":

November 21 - fly to Chicago
November 25 - back to NYC
November 26 - fly to LA
November 29 - back to NYC
November 30 - movers pack up/pick up

Then what? 
NOW what?


I have no clue how this entire arrangement has befallen me but I'm so excited about it, I could scream. And I haven't screamed in a long, long, long time. So the fact that the urge is with me proves I'm wanting this. I want, need, and am actually being magnetically pulled toward this. Somehow. But there is so much more to say.

Greg emerged from the swampy sea. He's back, in fuller force than ever before, begging for time, staring into my soul (he does that, how?? right in, right into the depths of where everything of me resides) and his presence is so overpowering and indescribable that I feel a vulnerability that I've never felt. He has stroked my very essence with his and I know it may seem strange, but I think falling in love with him probably changed me so fully that I can be this strong to make this transition to LA. 

We've been spending so many countless hours together in the past several weeks, it's ridiculous. I mean, I've basically handed my schedule to him and said, make your mark. And we've talked endlessly. Our conversations extend beyond average human conversations and keep running beyond, even. It's incredible, he always finds some spot in conversation where he says we should cut it off but then we find some new tangent and the swell of it just keeps rising, and we keep going, and I fall further into that feeling of basically never wanting to ever be not near him. That is a far too complicated and grammatically confusing sentiment. What I mean, is, I want to be near him all of the time.

This is a problem. I get that. As I indicated, his power over me and our weird thing we had/have going has powered me. I feel re-charged, strong, courageous. But here he is, looking at me with these enormous and amazing brown eyes, these eyes that are framed by thick lashes and within the frame, within the eyes, rests this silence. The silence is a quiet, a sort of...I suppose "Zen" place, remote, white, stable, beautiful. I could climb inside those eyes and curl up and sleep for weeks, months maybe. His eyes are really good.

All of this...I don't regret. But I am sad to leave it. I suppose that's all I want to say on it. He is a great sleeper. He sleeps soundlessly and neatly within the bed. He touches my spine. I've said that before. Important, to touch a spine.

So LA. What the fuck. This is going to be massive, major. I have little clue as to how I'm going to organize survival. I have no idea how much I'll miss New York City other than, fuck, A LOT. Those things...those minor things, the smallest moments, the leaves I stomped around Gramercy Park yesterday after my Going Away brunch, with Greg on my arm, his jacket sleeve gripped in my fingers while I stomped the many things. The night we spent at karaoke and he said, "wow, you're a really good singer, I didn't know" and then he impulsively asked me to go to the top of the Empire State Building at 1 in the morning. That amazing short film sequence we saw together outside. The way our hands brushed each other's like perfect chemistry, the way our knees collapsed against each other.

Maybe I'm more sad to leave Greg than New York.