I’m sitting at a bar in JFK about to move to London, England, for the next 2 years. It doesn’t get weirder.

Moving to London in a bit over a month. Who would have thunk it? Not me.

Been a minute. Have some updates. All my friends are getting married and having babies. I went to London for the first time, had a very cute week with a boy. Doubt it’s anything, but I guess we’ll see in a few months; I’m moving to London in the fall. I keep seeing 11s everywhere. I still think about the life I gave up, and I’m thinking about the life I’m preparing to give up. I don’t think about him anymore. I’d be lying if I said I hope he’s well, but maybe that’ll change some day. Nothing looks like what it did a year ago.

I haven’t seen you in nearly 3 years. I don’t remember your face, or your voice. I miss you regardless. I wish I could remember the good parts. I wish I could even remember the bad parts. You come in glimpses, flashes, and waves. You’re down in Florida, and I heard you kicked the heroin. I heard you found a girl and kept her. I heard you got that fresh start you wanted. Maybe everything comes down to timing and placement. Maybe I’ll never get both quite right.

Alright so just to recap 2022, I was very bored for six months, decided to lose my fucking mind around June, rekindled the worst relationship I ever had, immediately got pregnant, got unpregnant, turned 26 (on the same day), descended further into insanity, and then December rolled around. And now I feel ok. Things were truly so bad but I’m feeling alright, even though they still aren’t perfect. Maybe they never will be. But man, did I have some really fun and gorgeous and healing days and nights with my friends.