The thing is I want to take C with me to the Capitol City. I want to take her with me and then drop her in P-town where her aunt lives and to do this, I need a permit. I don’t need a permit to travel to the Capitol City—they would like us to leave and that’s how you get out of the country. Not directly, but you have to pass through it. But I need a road permit to get to P-town.
And I need to apply for a road permit 1 month in advance. Now would be a month in advance.
I need to get my shit together and do it.
Departures are hard.
Life is weird. It is almost like I live with the Wizard of Oz. People with more integrated experiences have no idea what their brains are doing. They just get the bit spit out on the other side. I get all of it. The weird detours, the connections, the meanders. Because my detours and connections and meanders are LOUD. They are intense. Mine come with suicidal ideation, with despair about whether life is even doable, with immense and breaking loss.
Given that I had the life I had. Given that I am alive and still breathing. Given all of that, I think I’m doing pretty well.
I just need to get a fucking road permit.