Hey

This might not exist anymore but fuck it, I can make it, because nobody knows about it anymore, and because I just want to.

Chris, in your initial post, you said something to me about the after. Well, this is the after.

I am in New Orleans, right now. I'm in my white-painted room with Christmas lights over my bed, as I imagine Weetzie Bat decorates her silly-sand-roofed Hollywood Hills cottage. I'm a few blocks from the bayou, one block into the hood. All my furniture is secondhand and my sheets and blankets are from Target.

I've lived here for about 2.5 weeks after leaving the life and home I had with the person I have loved for 4 years and believed I was going to marry.

Life is the fucking weirdest.

I'm leaving my job.

The after is law school and returning to California and pressing the goddamn restart button until it goes from green to orange to black to green. A neon. Maybe it will flash.

I drink a lot now. I bought two packs of cigarettes the other night. Why two? I don't fucking know, y'all. I just know that the long-haired boy with the soft voice and the two moles doesn't believe we can be together anymore and that intellectually, I believe this is the right decisions, and emotionally, I think it's fucking terrible.

I'm listening to Rainer Maria and I remember when you sent me this album via Yousendit when we were 18. I remember meeting Chris Torres for the first time and playing music with him at the KXLU studio while you were doing something for Michelle. I remember a punk show in a bowling alley that confused me. I remember waiting in line at the Echo for some show we never saw because my tires got slashed.

That was before.

This is after.