Maybe next month.

I went out again tonight.  I’ve been going out almost every night since I’ve been here in Cleveland.  I might be afraid of being home alone late at night, afraid of the inevitable late night and alone thoughts that might come.  There’s books, there’s television, but my mind inevitably wanders to thoughts of my solitude, of what this all means, and my head isn’t ready to confront these thoughts.  Maybe next month.

I put these words on this blog for whoever to see, and it’s a fine line of self-censorship that I walk.  Sometimes I look back at words I have written and am amazed at where I have seemingly placed the line, other times I wonder why I require a line at all.  The other times usually involve alcohol.

This is my last weekend in Cleveland for a while, so I am trying to enjoy it.  Tonight I met some old friends at a bar, played pool, smiled, used the restroom.  It was fun, but I found myself feeling strangely restless for much of the night.

I get this, this restless feeling, but then I also get this feeling that it’d be nice to be settled, but then I realize that I’m restless because I’m feeling settled, and that were I really settled I would probably be losing my mind with restlessness.

I don’t understand a word of that last paragraph.

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