I just moved to Chicago, and it's the springtime. Flowers and plants are blooming, little babies coming up from the ground. The robins hop around them, pecking at their pale green heads. Jacket zippers are left open and flapping. The sun warms my face without burning it.

The move was an effort to start over new. The fact that it's spring should help, I think. But I still don't feel as new or fresh as when I moved to California.

From the moment I landed in California, I was ready for anything. I got on buses and just rode. Everything was damn near exotic. I went on adventures with my new roommates, got drunk and high and made wonderfully careless decisions. I smiled and danced and then for some reason I let stupid men take precedence over everything and I haven't fully recovered since.

Is this what life is? Is it just a series of so-called fresh starts, followed by experiences that make you super fucking depressed and suck the life out of you, rinse, repeat?

Maybe I should just be patient. Maybe I shouldn't count too much on ever feeling virginal again, since I've been fucked and fucked over and I need to deal with it and move on, and maybe that's what will help me fall back in love. If not with another person, then just with life.