It's one of those days when I'd rather be anywhere else, at least, that's what I tell myself, but the truth is I'd rather be anyone else. I ogle travel sites for new places to go but, sadly for me, I'd have to be the one to hop on those planes and trains. And I will, to NJ and DC and Martha's Vineyard and San Francisco and Long Beach and Texas and Philadelphia and Scottsdale and, if I'm damn lucky, Alaska. Some of it is exhausting sounding in my head, a failure to live up to my promise to myself to travel to new place sand be a businesswoman, not someone who is so easily flattered she says yes to expensive trips because she thinks it's cool to be invited anywhere. I won't lie, though--I am flattered, and wish I were rich so I could actually afford all those trips. Instead, I will have to figure out a way to afford them, and rent, wherever I wind up paying it. It could be anywhere and right now I am pretty over this same place, this same everything, even though NYC still enchants me, when I let it. I don't know if I deserve to go to all those places, but I also know that without those chances to escape, I would go even madder than I am. Maybe that's circular, but it at least staves off not so much monotony, as feeling like I'm going nowhere. My life may be going nowhere, but my body can take off, and maybe the rest of my life with it.
Last night I lay in bed and listened to fireworks going off in what sounded like the street right outside my window. Tonight, over the sound of Rebecca Gates, I hear thunder and, when I turn around, beneath the mangled, broken blinds I occasionally consider replacing, lightning. Part of me never wants to leave, even though there's bingo and steak and friends and theater to see this week, but when I get so stuck like this, where all of the words seem stupid and meaningless, The End some empty, faraway place I will never reach, I can't fathom actually getting excited about what's outside, because I know I first have to get excited about what's inside. I'm hoping to find that again, so I can bring something more than a hollow brain and body to all these cities I want to visit. I will have to just sit with that feeling, awful as it is, while a large part of me wishes I could start over, from the very beginning, erase all my sins and misdeeds so I wouldn't have to see them right in front of me, blockading the words I'm trying to get to. Since I don't think I'll be lucky enough to get that to happen, I will do my best to explore what I can here in my home, which is like a treasure trove of either junk or delights, or both. Funnily enough, I'm supposed to be working on a project about that "junk" that I have conveniently set aside because while I momentarily had the audacity to send a sparkly, bold pitch, I now fear I have nothing to say. And maybe I don't, but or maybe what I have to say and do about all the stuff will surprise me.