The brightness of summer is gone for good I think. Vanished with it is the lightness of mood and the gift of little responsibility. It feels cold. I can't keep warm so I spread my sleeping bag over top of the blankets that cover me while I sleep. I've been wearing the sweater every waking moment, and now I wear my raincoat too when I go out.

I sat in this vacant space where my things are currently disassembled, feeling the coldness of the bare grey walls. Just a thin frame, this room is - a wire mother. Even with the addition of a few small candles and warm red paper reflecting what little light survives the thick cloud cover, there is no comfort here.

I have an urge to run off to a café for safe harbor. There, the warmth of liquids steaming, people chatting, maybe a couch for me to lose myself in, and a hot cup of tea or hot chocolate would wrap warmly around me, keeping me company. At least in that place I don't have to pretend to think of it as "home"; there would be none of my things and I would not try to win the loving approval of a place that has no love to give.

Saturday, when it was really raining, I found myself snug in the M. Falcon. The heater doesn't work, but the glass and metal successfully deflecting the pelting drops made me feel amply protected. People have forgotten how to drive in it. Traffic was terrible and there seemed to be accidents every few miles. Cars nicer and newer than the M. Falcon were broken down by the side of the road. I stared at them like a member of the herd curious about the mutilation of one of my own: It could be me next time. The radio played, I sipped a half-drunk coke from the day before, and emptied the fortune cookie box one by one.

I traded the freeway for the coziness of a two-lane road. Drove by a lake of liquid mercury, houses built right up on it with views of what certainly must be the end of existence. The rain was so thick it obscured any sign of an opposing shoreline, of contiguous earth at all.

I wanted to leave here Sunday, leave here for the hills, for the darkest green of nowhere and for the comfort of truly being alone instead of feeling alone among so many. For all of my resourcefulness, fate conspired to keep me in town for the day. Maybe it was a sign for me to study, which I did. I spent too much time hugging myself for warmth in a small corner of this hard, cold apartment whose walls keep no secrets. Whatever you say bounces off me and sticks to you: These walls absorb nothing.

Where shall I go from here?

I awoke early to go workout this morning. One of my knees is stiff and sore to bend, the other is bruised, but I was going anyway. Instead, I sat here a long while listening to demanding words of a soulless cage that chilled me to the bone. A long shower beckoned. Wasting time. No time to waste.

I'm reaching out for connection, putting all my energy toward building some kind of security to protect me from this emerging winter. I do not believe in the concept of independence.