i spent the last week in st paul doing the following:
– catching up with my boos
– packing/cleaning/moving (well, really only the last three days)
– getting eaten alive by mosquitos
– getting sick, getting allergies, getting better, and then getting sick again.
i’m in the kind of place right now where all i really want to do is lie in bed all day with an assortment of fruit and watch friends reruns.
arriving in new york feels like jumping on a treadmill that’s already going, or playing a game of double-dutch. i haven’t done either of these things, but i imagine the anxiety and rhythm catching and repercussions of failure are similar. i think i fell flat on my face this time.