I occupy space heavier now. I still have floppy hair and a wardrobe of old jeans and T-Shirts. Right now I'm wearing a shirt of my dad's that I borrowed from him my senior year of high school. Areas around the collar and sleeves have frayed, the shirt has stretched well beyond its original form - but it feels familiar.
I am starting to miss things about my younger body, but its latest incarnation isn't so bad. There's suddenly a smirk-wrinkle on the side of my mouth. I no longer pour volumes of frenetic energy towards some nebulous end - well yes I do. But I'm getting better at it. I'm becoming more adventurous - My curiosity is at an all time high and it's prompted me to be daring in my choice making. I'm feeling things more than ever: the wind, the music, the alcohol, the texture.
I am eying my parents more carefully now, perhaps making some awkward steps toward the caretaking they do not yet need. Still I feel a looming shift in the family dynamic - One that seems distant but within reach.
My hangovers are worse. Much worse. As if taunting me with the demons of my dead alcoholic relatives. I love the feeling of cold tile pressed against my face when everything else in the room is spinning and my head is pounding. The cold. The subtle release. I close my eyes and for 30 seconds I'm sober - the momentary release never lasts long enough, but even the return of nausea is refreshing in its intensity. I'll feel like shit for two days but the process never fails to leave me recharged.
I'm in my head a lot more.
Chemicals weigh me down and yet I go faster.
I'm stealing time and hanging posters on the ceiling.
The burning is the best part.