Sayonora, summer.

I quit my job and left New York on August 1st, almost two full months ago. That's a simple fact, something I can grasp and understand and remember.

It was a strange summer. But when August came, I was at home and so was Gen. We decided to enjoy our August, our late-summer regression.

And we did. We floated between bars in Asbury Park and Belmar, making bad decisions, proving that although we have learned much since we were 20, sometimes it was okay to forget that for awhile. We were on the rebound, from jobs and school and relationships and emotion. "We literally have nothing to lose!" became our battle cry, before we swilled down cheap vodka and set off into the evening. One step forward, two steps back.

When the morning broke, I walked the dog and felt myself--my body, my brain, my heart--settle. My heart rate slowed. I threw out the Xanax. My thoughts became simple sentences, a break from the anxious meanderings that have so dominated the last three years.

I slept better than I have in years. I slept through July, August and September.

But with the quick passing of this month, I know that summer is over. That our lapse from real world responsibility is gradually coming to an end and with it, a change.

I'll leave here in 12 days and wonder what Los Angeles will bring. I'll look into the future with something new--optimism.

I have always been able to predict the bad, the shitty things. When I was young, I was sure I'd get cancer one day. (I did.) This year, I knew I wouldn't go a year without a hospitalization. (I was right.)

These things are no accident.  There is a reason that I have been stubborn and there is a reason that I am finally changing.  

Thoughts become things.

I've let myself wade through it all, an innocent passerby to my own life. But this summer, for all its regression and wine, taught me the value of playing an active role in your life.

And it feels like waking up.