the distance between two lines

I can’t wait to quit my job. A part of me feels ungrateful for saying so after I spent countless months searching for one. Week after week over summer I went to student resources at the library to check in on whether my application had been looked at. Then I was ecstatic when I did get the job. I thought it would make me happy—fulfill me in some way. But who am I kidding? I just needed the money.

Monday afternoon I’ll be giving my two-weeks notice. “I want to focus on my academics.” Though that statement is true, I really just want time for myself. Yeah, I feel like a quitter, but I also feel pleasantly selfish. I have the rest of my life to have swollen, tired feet. I have the rest of my life to hate my job. Anyways, I want my newspaper gig back. That got put on the backburner when I got the job at the library, and I’m pretty sure the editors-in-chief of the photography section have crossed me off their list of reliable people. I shot one event last quarter. As for my music reviews, I wrote one and it didn’t get published. There are a lot of people I need to email…

A heavy stone of dread sits on my chest as I think about going back. I’m not sure if this is what anxiety feels like. I simply think about it and it’s hard to breathe. It’s like I’m being suffocated, as if a firm hand is pressing hard against my chest, pushing me further and deeper into the ground. Like I’m being buried alive. And, at the moment, instead of pulling a Beatrix Kiddo, I would just die.

Santa Barbara is gorgeous. There is no denying that. I should feel lucky to live there and to be going back, and most of the time I do. The air feels clean and smooth and tastes like the ocean. Sometimes, very early in the morning or very late at night, when the little town is completely dead, you can hear the waves crashing against the cliffs. The sun feels like a warm blanket on your back, and, at night, millions of stars rise out of their slumber and pin themselves against a true navy sky. But lately, I prefer LA. The atmosphere is stifling and it’s a miracle more people aren’t falling dead on the sidewalks. There are no stars, just a purple sky smeared grey. And I like that. I like the honesty. 

I find myself writing a lot about LA, especially when I have to leave it. It’s funny—they say, “Write about what you know.” I honestly hardly know LA, even after 20-something years of living here. Maybe that’s why I write so much about it. There is still so much hidden in the cracks that I have yet to uncover, mostly because I don’t drive. It’s just so big and, for years my motivation has been so small.

There are a lot of things I want to change, and not having a license is one of them. I cut my bangs yesterday because that’s what I do. When I don’t have the means to change the big things, I find a million little things to change, especially when I feel stagnant, stuck and bored. If I ever thought I was interesting or creative, that sensation is now completely gone. No matter, tomorrow I go back to Santa Barbara and I’ll create a new routine. I’ll have to do things though. I’ll quit my job, and maybe get a new one. I’ll get a piercing or another tattoo, if I can afford it. I’ll go downtown alone more often just to people watch. I’ll go to the library only when I need a book, because sitting in there feels like death. I’ll stop drinking because it makes me sad and sick. I’ll start running because, not only do I need the endorphins, I need to feel like I’m going somewhere.

I know I’ve been a wet blanket on Tumblr lately, and in real life. I’m sorry. I’ll try to change that, too