I have an obsession with books. I think if I’d had more say in the matter that, when I moved two weeks ago, I would have left all my clothes in Florida and packed suitcases full of books.
My empty bookshelves remind me of my empty soul.
But then there’s Green Apple and, if I spend even five more minutes in this shop I’ll be toting around my bodyweight in literature and probably broke.
But really?! Who turns down a shiny, new Franzen for $4?!
I have a book problem. No, I won’t get help.
Hey. I’m in Las Vegas airport waiting for my connecting flight to San Francisco/my new home, which is very weird concept. Not sure if that’s because I’ve been moderately homeless in recent months or if, well, it just isn’t home yet. I don’t even have a bus route yet.
But I have a job and new sheets and an elderly roommate. And so I guess now it is my home…
Anyway, I haven’t been writing as I’d hoped to, but I have been tearing my book to shreds in my mind. In a good way. In a way that, I know, makes the story better, but only illuminates how much work I still have to do on this story.
I figure that writing a book is like doing a puzzle. At first, you just put the puzzle together in the easiest way possible. And as soon as you finish the puzzle, someone tells you you have to do the puzzle all over again in a whole new way. So you have to set about rearranging everything as if you’d never solved the puzzle in the first place, but you still want to come to the same puzzle in the end.
So now I’m rearranging my puzzle. It’s a lot to do, but I feel my excitement mounting all over again. It’s almost as exciting as it was when I’d first thought the whole thing up. I’m dreading the work, but I fall more in love with this puzzle every day.
I realize that I only made it a week through my proposed schedule of postings, but it’s moving week and I’m staring hopelessly at piles of clothing and trying to decide what to take and what to burn in grief.
I am very bad at packing.
So the proposed postings will have to wait. And you guys will just have to forgive me for being a lying little blogger. And I will just have to figure out how to condense matter to my needs. And then we will all be happy.
San Francisco on Friday. Oh, dude, I’m nervous as hell.
Well, the European adventure has come to an end. I’m sitting, feverish out of my mind, in the Newark airport trying not to let myself remember the monstrosity they fed me on the plane under the ruse of lunch.
One adventure down. Back to the American Wanderjunk.
Dublin was fun (more so than I think I typically have). Stepped off to Galway yesterday and managed to hook my awkward British friend up with a sunburn (too British to handle… Who gets a sunburn in Ireland?). Goodbye Dublin! Goodbye Scotland! Goodbye friends and bedmates! Goodbye loud hostels!
So now I get to start my moving and starting school stress (ok, with a bit of roadtrip and DC fun thrown in for good measure). Oh god… I’m going to have to get a job again. And an apartment. And a commuting plan. And…
Sigh… Extended vacation can’t last forever. Are you sure? Why not?
Ok… This makes very little sense. I am sick. And back in America. You really must forgive me.
My time in Edinburgh has come to an end. I’m off to Dublin for the weekend with a friend then back to America on Tuesday.
It’s sad to leave. It’s been so much fun and I just don’t know when I’ll get to see Edinburgh again and all the friends therein.
Croatia was, obviously, gorgeous. The most perfect sunsets and even more beautiful sea. God, I would stay there forever (minus the giant snake that chased me down the stairs).
So… Once again, all my bags are packed and it’s off I go.
Today was probably the most beautiful day of all time.
I swear, when the sun is shining and it’s warm Edinburgh is the most beautiful place in the world. The park, every park, is full of people. It’s like everyone just calls into work and heads outside. “I’m sorry, I can’t come into the office today. The sun is too sunny to be inside.” What better excuse could there be?
Curled up in the grass with a book full of happiness. Aren’t all books, though?
I leave for Croatia first thing in the morning, 6:30 am flight. I’ve got that horribly sickening sort of excitement sitting in my belly. When you’re nervous because it’s gonna be new and interesting and scary.
Until then… Someone has put on True Blood (sorry, but… Horrible) and I’ve eaten my bodyweight in excellently spicy curry so…
Yep, good day.
I’ll message you from the road, friends.
I don’t actually think I believe in the calm before the storm. The storm always breaks well before the rain, you can feel it in your mind, watch the darkness gathering in the distance, pulling you towards it like a wave rolling towards the shore. Feel the dread in your guy, heavy in the air, saturated.
York was lovely, a truly adorable city, but marred by the doom waiting to tip over our heads, the water balloon already in transit to smash into our face.
You’re never just paranoid. You know when something isn’t right. When something has gone unsaid.
I made myself horribly sick on it and have made the long-overdo pact with myself to give up drinking. Not in a black and white way. In a way that’s like… Why have I ever invested so much time and energy to make myself sick in a new friend’s dirty toilet for a day?
How would I need that when there is this?
Also, we went to a drag show.
But now we are back in Edinburgh, waiting out the storm. Maybe one of these days the rain will stop.