I went to a monastery for my birthday this year, the place where they make the local jam I like. They come in these beautiful little jars. I’m 25 years old now, I like that age. I feel that age. I only started liking my birthdays when I got older, past school. They make sense to me when I could control myself.
I’m happy. Things are working out, things always work out. I don’t really have anything profound to say. What did I used to write in my journals on my birthdays? I wish I could find my journal when I turned 22. 23. It’s here somewhere. 24 was here in Providence, and I have the same journal this year I had then, and it doesn’t have an entry. I never kept good journals, though. I realized years ago that if I wanted to make stuff I couldn’t force myself to adhere to one book at a time, one thing at a time, cover-to-cover.
I went to a monastery, and mostly laid in the fields surrounding the abbey. It was a beautiful day, slightly warmer than the day before (me and N went to the beach that day). I ate chips and drew the clouds and cleared my mind. Cleared my mind without particularly trying, which is the only way that makes sense. Forcing your mind to clear is sort of horrific. The abbey was an hour and a half drive too, which was nice. I had a great time. I kind of wished I had brought a tent and I could have camped there a few days, not spoken out loud a few days, but there was a party for me that night, and C did a tarot reading for me like she did last year, so I had to go back. I should live in a cold brick building some day.
This drawing of the main stained glass window doesn’t fit the aesthetics of my drawings well but it has to go in. Something I liked about the abbey was that it wasn’t very open to visitors. It had two tiny entrances that were barred off from the rest of the complex. The building itself had kind signs that asked for absolute silence. The interior of the building rang out with every shuffle from my backpack. I love that. A huge, echoing building, so when you bump something, everyone knows about it. Clear and cold and empty.