~ May 29, 2004 - 2:01 p.m. ~
No Apologies
There are no apologies. In terms of exciting updates, things have been slow. I went to Florida for Mother�s Day (the Friday before which was the happiest day of my life, for no good reason. Everything was just wonderful, and that�s a fact.), and I came back to New York just to be more painfully reminded how sick I am of this place. The only two things keeping me here are Tim and Shakespeare in the Line. Oh yeah, and that pesky lease.Although Perdita moved here, which is a great balm to my loneliness. Perdita has the constant effect of lifting my spirits, but I have been reminded not to depend on her for my happiness.
I do yoga every day that I can. It�s something I look forward to every day, so I try to go as much as possible. I found a studio I love, and although they can�t replace Carol, it�s a start. I was calling it the �happy magic yoga studio� for a while, because each time I went there, every instructor was better than the last, and I was returning from practice really understanding what Steve Ross meant by �blissed out�. Of course, eventually something would come along and knock me out of the blissful state, and I was becoming maudlin and irritable. Fighting. Disjointed.
Most of what happens to me now happens in my own head. It�s a combination of yoga and therapy I guess that makes me so introspective. Day to day I do the same old stuff. Errands. House chores. Make food, clean up. Fail to write. Housewife bullshit. But inside my head is something else. Deep thought. Weird dreams. Mourning and celebration at once. Confusion.
I find myself missing people with such a poignant ache; some people who are close to me, and some people with whom I haven�t felt a real connection in years. Waves of nostalgia wash over me, some of them so intense I feel crippled. Perdita and I were going through an old photo album from high school, and I realized I don�t have a single picture of Tech. Well, except in those famously absurd personality portraits we used to take. Very few pictures of Em either. Although most everyone else was pretty fairly represented. Lots of Celia, which I hadn�t expected. I never really viewed us as close, but there she is, lurking in almost every picture. I haven�t thought about Celia in years. No one ever talks about her or asks about her. I don�t think about Dinah much either, and she�s in tons of pictures.
I miss lots of people I don�t dare talk to because it�s been to long, and I guess the gulf is too wide. Or I think they�ll think the gulf is too wide. If six months go by and I don�t talk to someone or hear from them, I assume they�re happy to be out of my life, so I tend not to bother.
I wonder where all this social reticence came from. I am clearly not the girl confident enough to introduce herself to people and insist upon friendship. I am not the girl brave enough to punch Dirk and still expect unwavering friendship. I am not the girl who stalked boys I liked brazenly, or the girl who pushed the principal in the mud, or the girl who lied about flat tires so she and her friends could go to Dunkin� Donuts. I�m not the girl who insisted that everyone come over for chocolate souffl�, or the girl who hopped fences to go pseudo-skinnydipping (with Tech, both times) at the same pool late at night. I�m not the girl who smelled trees and wrote poetry and brewed mead and made hair-wraps and went canoeing and practiced aromatherapy and went barefoot and laughed easily and hid tears. I�m not that person anymore, but I want to be. Is that regression? Or does everyone just naturally aspire to be a more confident manifestation of themselves?
The hard truth is this: I don�t really like New York. I�m not really happy here. I was happy in Florida, although I claimed that every minute spent in that swampy state was torture. The best memories, the happiest times are there. Why? I always wanted to live in New York, but it is just so hard on me. And I�m sorry, but the 24 hour access to sushi, public transportation, and the arts just don�t cut it anymore. This is my last year in New York. I�m ashamed to admit that I couldn�t make it here, so � according to the song � I guess I can�t make it anywhere. I�ve got to be able to make it somewhere. That place is just not Manhattan.
