Most memorable moments from last year came to me in dimly lit parties and fog filled rooms. People swirl around me as sweat drips from my body, stains my dress. Strobe bathes everyone’s face in a staccato glow.

I’m trying to evolve, to become something different without doing so because of some deep seated urge to be anything other than what I’ve meticulously crafted for myself. Maybe this is strange, to build statues within myself then destroy them. I am always going, always making mistakes. I’m growing tired of work in that I’ve become tired of pushing everything under the guise of business. At the same time, tying money to certain interactions makes it so that I can hold others in a realm that is far less transactional. Then again some people think all forms of interaction are relatively transactional, though I have yet to hear this from someone I’m not a bit wary of.

Sometimes I tire of sleeping with people, of socializing at all. There is something overly performative about being with women that I enjoy at first then tend to find exhausting. Men offer a kind of solace that isn’t always long lived.

I sit in bed at night and build castles of desire. I envelop myself in them and am lifted by their ardor. I try to capture this feeling during the waking day, to cultivate, foster and nourish what I had so briefly the night before but my efforts seem to fall short. I am constantly battling this momentous hill, these shadows of what someone thinks of me.

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