I am at the end of my Missoula trip. Sitting at my sister's table, her house smelling of trapped sunlight and sweet child, I feel as calm as the atmosphere surrounding me. No dark flash of insecurity, no ripe shadow of loneliness. In fact, I am almost worried. Where is my personality? Where are my sentiments? This afternoon Nat noticed me sitting on the couch staring forward with both hands resting on my knees. I don't have anything to do I said. I don't have anything to think about. Do something fun she suggested. What is that when all is well? I had to be honest, mood swings are fun. I am traumatized by the things I crave. I am repelled by the things I claim to be searching for. Oh, is that it? I keep looking for a cure to my malaise, to my heartbreak, to all of the saturation that makes me interesting. Interesting to me. My sister simply listens and by just acknowledging what I am saying, she parents me toward profound moments of clarity. I am not ailing. I want to be a little injured. A slight limp, a bleeding heart.

And so, I return to Portland bringing with me a new lightness. Knowing that even the bad days are kinda good too.