the clamorous i

i'm freaking out. new house, new job, new romance, new friends, new classes...even a new cellphone. it's all going fantastically, falling in to my lap piece after piece, begging me for attention, praising everything that i do. so, yeah, i'm freaking out.

"dark and twisty" it may be, but now i'm just waiting for the backlash, resisting every impulse to flee and embarking on malignant self-soothing that keeps me awake until 5 in the morning the day before i move, and i'm not even pretending to pack.

and so the id, the me, the clamorous i, refuses to be still, appeased. i sprint from reassurance to reassurance and can't stop thinking about the bubble of fiction on a balmy april afternoon in a haze of frangipani. i'm making it up. god knows which flower it really is.

i avoid deceptively, engaging and embracing, because it's the only thing i really know how to do. what can i say? whatever you need to hear. not want; need. second person is such a comfortable way to live one's life, didn't you know? vicarious is more fun, anyway.

so, yeah, i'm freaking out.