In these rooms.

When I am asked what my regrets are, I always reply that I have none. I honestly regret nothing I have said or done, because whatever action was taken was how I felt in the moment, and those moments have lead me to the exact place I am in right now. So instead of saying that I have a regret, I will say I am saddened by circumstances. The circumstance I find myself in right now is that I am moving out of my college apartment. I feel like my collegiate experience had two distinct periods, which is very true considering the brief foray into an English existence. I honestly feel an incredible disconnect to who I might have been before going. Not that I am particularly different in attitude or appearance, but my mind can't recall quite how I felt before. The circumstance that saddens me is not moving out of an apartment I have inhabited for over two years since returning (because that is part of moving past this college time in my life) but that I could never share it with anyone. I always wanted to wake up on a Saturday and lay in bed with someone I care about for hours, just watching the sky out the window, and listening to music while we nakedly talk about nothing. I wanted to make someone breakfast in my underwear, or take showers, or take long inhales in this place that feels more like mine than anywhere else I have ever lived. That somehow this apartment is an extension of myself, and by having someone who shared my bed and my comforts I could earnestly be close to someone. So, I am saddened by circumstances; the knowing that this will part of my heart will never been opened to someone. I wanted to fall in love in these rooms.

I am what I am not wearing.

Every morning, I wake up and proceed to dress myself in the colored charades of self that we call clothing. I choose who I shall be perceived as today, what image will strike people in a glance, and how does that then relate to how they approach me for the rest of our brief time together. They say I'm eclectic, that I've the taste of Little Eddy. I'm just waiting to find someone who will see me and love me in the early hours of the morning, when the smoke and mirrors game goes away and I am presented in the first touches of daylight as who I really am. A soft feminine person, with frequently messy hair, who is happiest when we can just be, no exterior facade necessary.

Truth.

I lead a pretty fantastic life. I get up every morning, breathe fresh air, walk out to see these beasts of mountains in front of me, and I go to a job where I am respected and respect the people I work for incredibly. I get to be creative with my mornings, and help people to find their own creativity. I discuss life with beautiful strong women who have lead theirs and find themselves happy in their golden years; and happy on so many levels. Today I left their company and walked through dollhouses in West Boulder. Mickey and I, power walking past hundred year old homes that have been painted soothing and wild colors. In their lush setting, the remind me of how I always pictures homes as a child. Like big dollhouses, but set in rustic yet urban spaces and full of my own creations. We hit the creeks, drop our clothes and jump in over a water fall. This is of course passing the most multicultural section of this entire goddamn granola town. Suddenly, next to one another, the Muslim, Mexican, Yuppie White, College Kid Families and all gather and enjoy our little bubble. I note this, and Mick responds: "Everybody loves free fun." Truth. We've jumped and suddenly our bodies are shocked and rocked to our cores where the steam of the day hit the glacial melt off, and the rush of days of rain whipping by at occasionally deadly speeds hit us like spiritual experiences. After some otter-like play, we walk all the way home again, and we talk, and I remember that I've known him two and a half years already. Time keeps going. In a flash I'm dry from the sun and a walk back, and quick sponge down and I'm driving like a dick to get to Hallie and Nate's to see the Rockies win. Sitting in the club level is certainly better than the Rock Pile. God bless America, and this American feeling I guess, that is following on the heels of an invigorating night hike two nights ago to watch fireworks with brilliant people on a crag two miles into the mountains to see all colorful explosions across the eastern slope. What a beautiful place. I'm spoiled rotten. Sitting with even older friends, we see Laura's mom at the game, and she has tears in her eyes, just to see her daughters friends while her's is so far from home. I've always loved that family. Wonderful days, full of beautiful people, who love and give and make me feel alive. I read on a bumper sticker while walking down to the bars: 'We are not human beings having a spiritual experience, we are spiritual beings having a human experience.' Truth.