away from it all

I woke up with a bit of a start this morning. The cat was delighted, thinking my purpose was to fawn over and feed him. Instead I rolled out of bed and checked my phone to see the results. Getting info like that from Twitter is hilarious, because often the 'news' tweet is lost in the endless stream of reaction tweets. You don't find out what's happening, just what people think of what's happening. 

I voted over a month ago. Scoured the web regarding all the little, poorly written amendments to work out what they actually meant. Checked the record on the judges up for reelection and whatnot. Tried to be thorough and make an informed enough decision. Some of them required more research than others. 

My home nation seems a very different place these days. Some different for the better, some different for the worse. It's never not strange to be so detached from it and yet still be able to look in. To watch The Daily Show, read the NYT, Boston Globe or Washington Post. To see the news as it happens, to watch the thoughts of millions pouring out into the internet and yet not be in it, not really.

To feel a sense of pride, but from a distance.

 

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long goodbyes

So I've had a couple of those goodbyes recently. They were simple and short. In no way commensurate to what was said goodbye to. There was beer; whisky. So much more left unsaid than said. I've run out of fingers to save the pages of all the chapters of my life I'm moving on from. 

stagnant

I've not gone for a run this morning. It's been about three or four weeks, and that was just a four-miler. It's driving me slightly crazy. I feel myself getting that little bit unhealthier and more out of shape every day. It's sort of like writer's block, in a way. The further I get from doing it the more I forget how easy and natural and right it feels. The more it seems impossible, and fraught with effort. I set my alarm early but it was so dark, I just chickened out. It was just so easy to hit the snooze button this morning and climb back into bed. I have a running light. I even have a headlight, though I'm not sure how to wear one of those while still wearing my Red Sox hat. I've run in the dark before, lightless. This shouldn't be any different. It isn't. 

Tomorrow. Honest.

 

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rainy sunday

I wished for a rainy Sunday and here it is. Boxes and bags to be emptied and arranged and put somewhere properly. I've not started yet. I've no idea where I'm going to fit it all. I've also the sense that it shouldn't be unpacked for very long. That sooner rather than later it will all be packed again for some yet undetermined location. 

Last night was beer and burgers and old friends. Birthday toasts raised and loads of chips covered in Parmesan and truffle oil consumed. I headed home in the cool London night. For some reason I thought cocktails would be a good idea on the walk home and conveniently one of my new favourite cocktail bars was right there. So I popped in. 

A last orders Old Fashioned and then one of their new concoctions on the house. I don't quite remember the walk home, but I do remember not having a whisky before I went to bed because that would have been foolish. I cherish these small triumphs of decision-making. They are rare in my life. 

Before I unpack there are some errands to run in the rain. Convenient excuses are as rare as triumphs of decision-making these days.

 

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