Yes, this is my first post in ages. AGES! I’ve missed it. I can’t promise the same frequency or hilarity (unless I break my promise and get back into the online dating scene) but I do want to return to writing…more. Thusly, I give you:
Making the transition from living on the playa and in Gerlach back to being in Manhattan is never an easy one. I’ve written about it before. This year I spent almost a full two weeks in California before coming home so that certainly helped. But in my first 24 hours I:
Went out for dinner and, upon return, used the wrong key in my door and broke the lock. Like the whole cylinder wound up on my welcome mat. First I tried to break into my own apartment by climbing the scaffolding outside my windows — in a dress! — only to find them all locked. Damn subletters! I scrambled back down the slippery scaffolding and called a locksmith. Two hundred bucks later I was back inside. Sigh.
Broke a wine glass that had been drying on a towel. Ugh. I mean, I barely touched it.
Slept in my own bed. Aaaah. It required a fan to blow cold air on me because after sleeping with my trailer AC blowing on me I apparently can’t sleep unless I’m freezing.
Went through a HUGE pile of mail, most of which was junk, most of which was political or real estate junk.
Flipped through a few catalogs and became totally disgusted at how much I want. Not need. Want. America. BUY SHIT!
Faced a dozen ConEd turn-off notices. Bills. I hate paying bills. And money. I hate that too.
Despaired about how much I hate money. And how that is manifested in my life as not having any. Sigh.
FREAKED OUT about hating money, not having any, yet having so many BILLS. Ack.
Worked out. Yay! So great to be back in the gym! Not so yay for slipping on the stairs and almost cracking my skull. Saved myself by cracking my ass and my elbow. Guess I’m lucky to be so resilient.
Had a total stranger meow (yes, he meowed) “Burning Man!” at me as I walked down the street. Guess it was my Resto shirt…
Dragged my ass all the way to Queens for Burning Man Happy Hour. Dragged my ass a few miles out of the way, first, by taking the wrong subway.
Took the subway! This is always a great way to feel like a New Yorker again. Cramming yourself into a train car that’s either too hot or too cold but almost always too crowded, pressed up against the whole melting pot mass of humanity, really makes one feel like a true urban dweller.
Bought seltzer. Used the ATM. Made MY morning coffee! Really, it’s the little things. I’m happy to be home while already missing the desert, happy to see my friends here and simultaneously sad that I won’t be seeing the DPW diaspora I love every day. That comfortable familiarity is what I wind up missing most when I make my annual transition from that temporary city to America’s biggest. Um, can somebody bring me a salty snack? Please?