everything feels so real lately. before i moved out of suburbia i had this obsession with things that were real. my life usually didn't feel real, but i had moments of it. real meant the way things were in books. not strip malls and new houses and almost everything else near where i lived. there was a small town next to my suburb; it had been there since 1900 or so. it was built along the railroad. it was the oldest place anywhere near my house; it actually had old houses, sidewalks, and a main street. there was a bike path that went from my house to the town, through a forest and across a lake. i used to walk there and read at the coffeeshop by the lake. that was real. i don't know why i use the word real but i don't know what other word to use-- when i feel like something has a history before me, like i'm participating in some genuine activity. cities are always real; that's why i like them.

ever since i moved here real things have been increasing. the strange thing is, the more real my life is, the more it feels like a dream. like a fairy tale. so beautiful, but not just that. everything has meaning. while i was waiting for the bus today i looked at the field across the street where the cherry trees are in bloom. under one of the trees a dirt path stretched out across the field into the forest. i read the newspaper while spring rain fell. everything is black, pale green, and white. tree trunks and streets black with rain. small green leaves appearing. white blossoms.

lately there's been kind of an excess of reality. being completely broke has new meaning every day. i thought i was poor last month? ha. i haven't been able to concentrate on my reading because i can't stop thinking about rent. even if we have this month's, what about next month... i always think "the universe provides." but it's been getting harder and harder to make that come true.