I don’t know where I’m at tonight. If I could let go of trained patterns and predictable tendencies, would that familiar face look back at me as a stranger? Moving towards change as if there were something to gain – I’m discovering exotic shades of face paint I must have hid from myself during adolescence. As the summer continues to roll by, mountains of Montana are looking quite bare with little to no snow left to cover their peaks. Their true colors are exposed, and without a thick white blanket to accentuate their enormity and beauty, they are forced to remain planted, naked for the entire world to see. I have cut my hair to where there was barely anything left, and then I grew it back out down to the middle of my back. I have changed the color so many times that my new roots are even confused. I wear makeup; I go without. Straight hair, curly hair, bohemian clothing, trendy clothing: I am a chameleon. Now, I have temporarily, or permanently, changed my location only to confirm my suppressed suspicions – negativity was not due to suffocating surroundings. Deep within myself exists a prominent malfunction that must be handled with extreme caution to avoid a meltdown. I am looking to the honesty of my green mountains for repairs.
June 20, 2001