surrounded by nothing / but the nothing's surrounded by us

On the flight back to the city from Vancouver, waterlogged with fatigue, smudge-eyed, limbs folded and aching, I listened to Youth Lagoon's "Year of Hibernation" about 12 times. It's not really music for airplanes - more for summer nights in Brooklyn - but it was the only thing that lowered my heart rate to a manageable beat.

I was at this concert last year, drunk. I remember feeling like I was on fire, each cell of my body being plucked and strummed, as though lightning was being loosed down my spine. Does that sound ridiculous? You'll know it if you've felt it. It was the music, the company. It was the whiskey and the way the anxiety I'd been battling all fall was finally lifting.

I have a lot more I want to say about that. I have a lot more I want to say about everything, lately, but I'm feeling stuck. I think I've been talking/writing around it: I'm unhappy. Not all the time, not chronically or inescapably, not dangerously, just - unhappy. I'm going to try a few things. First a haircut. Maybe a few late nights out in the open, with fireflies, if I can arrange it. I want the summer to come - to really come. I want to be wet and ready, because I want something to happen. I want to make something happen.