Random white boy coughing.

Went to visit K and came back today. It was a lazy long weekend in the Berkshires. Thoughts of J evaporated once I got there. Like B said, I know where I belong. Where I used to be was a nice place, too, and I'm grateful that I get to catch a glimpse of it now and again.

We went to a swimming quarry with her old boyfriend. (Not a big deal?) The plan was to jump off of a 50-foot cliff. The whole walk up I kept thinking that the thoughts I was having would be the last thoughts of my life. It was all going to go black, and walking back down the rock steps was out of the question, because not only was old-boyfriend jumping right after me, but K jumped before me. I must preserve my masculinity.

So I jumped?

Too much time during the fall, it's not like jumping off the porch or the swings, where it's over in a split second. I had time to process the fact that I was falling, to feel myself accelerating, to scream a full obscenity before I hit the water.

I did not give two shits that my underarms stung when I came up. I felt it and that meant I wasn't dead, and that it was fun. I popped out of the water screaming "I don't give a shit I don't give a shit" and everyone was grimacing because they said it looked bad. But it was fine! It was fun! I didn't do it again.

I went for a barefoot run, got huge blisters on my feet, I can't walk right now. My father called me afterwards and told me my grandfather died that morning.