the parts. all the parts of me. all these parts are part of me.



Songs: Going to Georgia, the Mountain Goats; It’s a Crime I Never Told You about the Diamonds in Your Eyes, Black Heart Procession; Hast Thou Considered the Tetrapod, the Mountain Goats; Where We Go, Folded Light.

I’m in Baltimore at the Conversation, which is a conference for Jewish philanthropists, innovators and other such folk where we literally talk to each other about subjects that we decide we want to talk about. (So far, there has been no talk about serial killers, and I’m probably not going to bring it up.) Joan Roth is here. I want her to be my best friend. I have less than 48 hours to do this, but so far she’s told me that my journal is a work of art, and that she’s learning a lot from me. IT IS HAPPENING.

I’ve left my routine to come here, of course, (I even changed pen colors in my journal) and this I find funny because I never think I have a routine, and then I realize that my routine is thinking that I have no routine. (It turns out that I do actually have one. ) Anyway, what I have is not here now, so it again seems like I’ve exchanged one part of my brain for another part-fictional loved ones for Jewish identity. Of course, they are all linked to each other, and it’s not so easy to separate them. Sometimes when I’m involved in a heated discussion, I’ll have a moment of realization as to how many different parts of myself there are. It’s kind of thrilling, and it has helped me out from under the worst moments of self pity and anxiety.  

I always end up drinking too much coffee in situations like this, and eating weird things, and missing my walks and music and unstructured time, but the trade offs are fireflies, and the very good smell that is wet earth. I have a whole huge room (with four bunk beds) to myself, and a lot of work to do.

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