My dad is watching a program on TV about suicide. He hasn’t changed the channel yet, which intrigues and frightens me.
Does he know how close I was?
Probably. He has made comments about reading my journal. (Teen me thinking that everyone believed in the sanctity of journals.)
And now: Young Adult me realizing that my dad is the last person I should trust.
I tried to put my sadness into words but a lot of meaning is lost in translation. Feelings only really make sense as feelings. No amount of wordiness can explain them just right.
I don’t even know the purpose of this post. I’m just glad that I won’t have to see my dad for the next few weeks.
I need to get out of here
I really like looking at pictures of airports. I have a soft spot for them. I’m not sure why. It might be because an airport is the one thing standing in the way. Once I pass through it, I get to where I need to be. I would equate it to seeing the finish line at the end of a race. I find comfort in it.
I have traveled a little in my life, more than my closest friends- which isn’t saying much, because they’re homebodies. I enjoy traveling. I like to see new places, landmarks, culture. And there’s something so appealing to me about living out of a suitcase. It’s really all you need. It makes me want to start something new.
My dream job would require me to travel to every beautiful place in the world. It would be pure bliss- except for the work part of it.
Anyway- airports. Hey, don’t flight attendants travel everywhere…? They have to see the ugly places too though. And some passengers are annoying.
But anyway- airports. There’s so much to see there. Conflicts, mistakes, loss, success, confusion, love, surprise, tears, jumping, little dogs, mustaches, umbrellas.
I can’t wait for my flight.