F.'s the first to go. He leaves tomorrow and won't be back until mid-August.
It's the beginning of that transitional time when students and others start spreading out the five boroughs across the country and globe. I feel a little sad because it feels as if I'm getting left behind. This time last year I was in Europe; hanging out with S. in the French countryside. I haven't left since I returned from that trip. I suspect I have a little NYC-cabin fever. But I guess it's up to me to get out if I truly wanted to do so. It's hard to remember that though.
That's my thing, I think. I teeter between escapist fantasies and anchoring itches (my need to create a stable, secure, safe and static sense of stasis ... snore). It's a struggle. There's also that nutty thing I do where I imagine everyone else in the world partying it up on a beach without me. And everyone is wearing hawaiian shirts and/or gigham swimsuits, those 80s glasses that the Corey Feldman made famous, sipping frozen drinks...
Okay, obviously I have abandonment issues. I'm human. But this annual activity isn't my favorite. Not only do I not like being left, but I hate missing people. If I had a Dolorean I would go back to an era where moving entailed the construction of a new dwelling adjacent to your current one. A time period where travel took so long you actually forget about the person by the time they return.
I am looking forward to getting through my reading list though. Paperback traveller, indeed.
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