today: i took a walk! out on the bike path behind my house, to the bridge and the lake. where my friends and i used to go at night and pick pussywillows and sit by the water and drink homemade lemonade in a thermos. i used to feel more at home here. today i felt out of place, in my city clothes. chuck taylors, black hoodie, and shoulder bag, amongst aging bikers in bike shorts and tan suburban moms with ergonomically designed jogging strollers. i left the bike path for the dirt trail that goes through the thicket out on a muddy peninsula, where people used to have bonfires and leave broken beer bottles everywhere. i was still a little dazed and tired from withdrawal, and i wandered around halfheartedly looking at everything. i haven't been there for years.

with the sun slanting through the trees, i felt like i was in some cheesy inspirational film: "after recovery, the rehabilitated addict takes a quiet walk in the woods, appreciating the grandeur of the outdoors. she has learned that the best pleasures of life cannot be drawn into a needle!" but i was a perverse patient. i walked back to the bridge and sat on a rock by the lake, not really sure what people do there. i've been in the city too long. i looked sullenly at the ground and felt like i was waiting for a bus. walking back, a boy on a bike rode by and i glanced at him. i think he recognized me. i think he lives in my neighborhood. i was trying to avoid being recognized around here.

so now i have so much time to sit around this house and drink tea, and read the endless stacks of magazines my parents accumulate. harpers, new yorker, scientific american, and national geographic are my favorites, but they're just the tip of the iceburg. i picked up a new yorker and started reading, and realized i'd read it before-- it was from august 2002. it's not unusual to find nytimes book reviews from more than 4 years ago. for some reason, they always get to the book review last. and when i come here, i always realize quickly that i don't like to relax. it stagnates. i've had enough. where is my struggle?

this state is so---. i can't believe i grew up here. portland still feels exotic to me, after 4 years, but now exotic feels more like home than this suburb. i suppose minneapolis is still worth it. it's like i'm 13 again, with no car. i'll have to walk 2 miles to catch the bus into the city. one benefit of growing up somewhere you hate is that it's extremely inspiring. i was dedicated to the cause of getting out of here from a very young age. i wandered around the city relishing the grittiness, memorizing streets and bus lines, going to the modern art museum, and sitting in coffeeshops trying to be some mysterious artist. i was stubbornly unpractical in winter: i stepped around slush and snow in purple velvet slippers with only cloth soles. in freezing wind i wore dresses, thin stockings, no coat. i wore less than i do in a portland winter. i was on a mission to find my fairy tale, far from suburbia, where things would feel real, like a dream.