Give Me A "Paris" Of Socks And I Will Walk Home

It’s about that point on my calendar that marks the date for me to submit to publishers. I made the date several months ago when I was writing everyday and inspired by all the differences around me. I don’t have a manuscript and I question whether or not I have talent. Maybe that read morose, but I am smirking, because I assume I do have talent... and I will go forward expressing what I consider “talent” to a still unreceptive world until the day I get the call: you did it, Abbey, everyone in the world loves you! They don’t expect anything from you except to be yourself, like you’ve been doing (maybe, by this time) (who am I?). At this point, I will have accepted myself, most likely, and learned how to love myself all while allowing other people to express themselves.

I think a parents job is to build you an identity that will serve you in this world, because I doubt who we truly are, on a soul level, has any place in the material world in which we live. I am not saying there cannot be shots of light through the colors of dysfunction (does it sound racist when I liken dysfunction to color?), like shadows playing out shapes of truth in an illusory world. I am saying that because if I hear another guru tell me to be vulnerable and try to guide me there, then ask for money for another level of my own self-knowledge... well, I started that sentence off like I had a plan, but really I don’t. I plan on trying not to judge other peoples’ truths. Whether it be that the aforementioned guru IS transparent in his divinity and his presence alone will raise you to knew heights of consciousness or that auditing is an effective form of self-knowledge (Scientology), I wont say what’s right or not. I don’t know anything about what works for other people. People are trying to have some structure to peace, to feel good and it is ironic that we talk about shedding layers like there is an internal destination to live from, when those layers are the structure we seek externally. In our attempts to tear them down, we’ve manifested them in the form of religion, occults and gurus. We are given moments of insight, where we sit in our true nature and feel peace, it is there, but there is not one way to find it. I don’t think very many people are claiming there is “one way” anymore, but I haven’t been to the South yet, either. So, to not judge another’s truth; to not follow another’s truth. That is my own personal revelation after seeking in the frame work of other people’s houses for a room of my own. Maybe Paris brought me to this point, maybe I would have found it in Yakima Washington, either way I was going to gain weight.

Now, I am in Paris. I thought I would come here and feel connected, like I finally found a place to belong. I would fall in love with a reasonable man and would be adored for me. I would get to a place in my body that felt waif-like and acceptable. I knew it would take effort, but it was worth the work. In reading about culture shock and talking to people who have lived abroad, there is a six-month mark where you are just ready to give up... everything is at it’s worst or whatever. I am there, but not with the same futility. I realize that I am at point of going “where do I want to live?”. It isn’t about not adjusting to a new place, it’s about accepting where I am in life and surrounding myself with opportunity. I do stand up and I like space. I like room on my side walk because I walk with purpose and I like plenty of days in a week to try new material/ re-work old material. This is not going to change. I am in love with a friend and old boyfriend who has asked me to live with him and even though we’ll be sleeping on the floor and I will be distracted by his life style choices, there is no one else on this Earth that I know to be better for me at this time. I could be alone with myself, but I have been doing that for so long, I think it might be a fun experience. Although, it could wind up being it’s own form of Paris... I will still learn something. So, I am returning to America to live in Portland, Oregon for awhile. I never thought I would be saying this and I don’t say it with contrition, I say it with hope and acceptance. I will have some time with people that I love and care about and I will always be free to follow my heart. I will miss the price of cherries in Paris and trusting the meat I eat anywhere. However, when I get back to the states, I will probably stop eating meat, anyway. Paris is beautiful and old, but so am I (I am a thousand years old) and I am going to take my Paris back home. It is going to cost me in changing my flight, but can you put a price on it? I am so excited to come back.

Coffee Shop Sofa Sex

There is a shift of focus for the content of my life. I am almost thirty and finally ready to be positive. I mean this in the sense of what I joke and talk about, also what I look at. I recognize what it feels like to say negative things about people or to “vent”. I have always done this justifying that I need to “get it out”, but there is no release, there is only more of the same and an insatiable desire to do more. I also find that if I make fun of people behind their back, I feel that much more affected by the idea that people don’t like me. It’s creating the world you live in and recognizing the world only exists to you the way you see it. Cynics will point out that bad things are happening whether or not you acknowledge them, but how much energy do you have to give to the problem before you start identifying with it? I am focusing on a solution... nice things to do and say. Eventually, I wont feel a need to destroy myself, I think. I am sure, because I am shifting. I also am cutting out celebrity gossip... really toxic stuff there.

In this shift I have to ask what I am laughing at; what am I joking about? For example, I was at a restaurant waiting for somebody when 6 Asians walked in, some old, some young. They were tourists and as tourists, spoke English when they asked for a “table for sex”. I don’t want to think that I misheard that, and as the only native speaker in the area, I was alone with my chuckle- so alone that I didn’t chuckle at all. Now is it mean-spirited to relay that story? Nope, because it’s not like I am pulling my eyes apart and dumbing down my voice. It is good natured linguistic fun. So they got to the table and the older man started pinching the little girls undeveloped nipples... maybe that’s an area I don’t feel like taking, because I might have kids someday.

I might have kids, I might write books, but I am considering taking speed more and more. Coffee seems to get me into more trouble than speed would. I was at my favorite coffee shop and found myself being stared at by the attractive barista. I would look up occasionally and watch him for a period of time that could just be staring off, or it could be flirting. It amounted to nothing immediately, because I left without saying anything, even after he sat right across from me with a book and intermittent glances. I was sitting in front of the window, so it’s possible that there was something more to see in my general area, but it feels better to think that we are soul mates. The only thing with delusion, is the down side, when you find the person you never actually spoken with on Facebook and ask them out for coffee. I did this, but I played it as cool as possible considering the context. I haven’t heard back and am starting to plan my next line of defense.

FLOWERS- CARDS- PHONE CALLS- BLOW JOBS

Anything to get my power back and make visiting that coffee shop less stressful again. Never pee where you sleep, guys... unless you are in love. I am not too bent out of shape, it doesn’t seem to me that this guy gets on Facebook everyday. He might be camping or married. I sent him a friend request the day before I wrote him and hoped he would ask me how he knew me, so I could say “I recognized your pants in a photo” or something equally undefinable in it’s creepiness. He didn’t ask, probably satisfied with his life as it is, so I wrote the blurb about us getting coffee... Now, I am just going to find ways to stop eating, maybe mono. I have never had mono and sometimes I think it’s because God hates me, or that I am shy.

I haven’t posted on my travel blog in sometime, so I am going to post this. However, I hope that my ex in Portland doesn’t read it because it will make him sad to read that I am asking guys out. He and I still talk a lot and maybe, you could say, we are still in love. Maybe we are just insanely good friends who don’t sleep with other people because we doubt anyone else will be as pleasant to deal with. Whatever the case, I have been told that I can see someone here and that he would still want to be with me when I get back to the US. I told him the feeling isn’t mutual because I don’t like the idea of sharing that dick. So, now I feel free to explore romantic possibilities with men I am attracted to. Mainly, because I know that if there isn’t a shared sense of humor or connection, I wont kiss them. It’s liberating to be able to walk down streets without wanting to move into every cute building you see. You can look at the space and just because it has a place to sit, doesn’t mean you have to get a rash from a well-worn sofa. Also, my ex should know, if he’s reading this... which I doubt, because he would have stopped after that paragraph about asking the guy out... He should know that I would only fuck somebody if they were really hung. I love you.