buriedinthesand

so yeah..being in portland
good
found a job at a place i really like, a little boutique called the powder room
it shall be good.

living with the boy is new and different, trying to maintain together and separate alike is really a kick in the face
and unexpected, yet lovingly and sometimes grudgingly endured challenge

i feel like i am walking around with film on my eyes, little gooey shutters for all the world to see and stick too.

do you ever feel like you're not completely yourself, but you don't really have any right to bitch because you don't know what yourself really is?

i mean, i know we're all in a constant state of change a metaphysical limbo of miniature proportions, and the idea of self is so elusive that even rilke urges us not to force the answer to the eternal question, but a feeling off but from what you are unsure?
off from where, perhaps imbalanced?
or pretending your way into existence,
the battle between too much surface self-invention and not enough actual self-realisation, turning a blind eye to the truth? or to the question?
i'm sure my confusion is apparent
and so the little filmy-haze malaise continues