I joke about how I wake up and don’t know what city I’m in, and there’s definitely some truth to it, in the groggy grey morning, but mostly I am joking. But it’s interesting how everything else blends together, even if these places in which I’ve spent years of my life. I wake up and I instantly am trying to orient myself, to figure out my place in this place.
Hotel or hostel? Couch or bed or corner, and where is my bike, and where is the city? Where am I going and why am I in this handbasket?
Today I lazed around, mostly, but I biked up to Quincy Center to finally replace my phone charger; I’d bought it in a McDonald’s-adjacent gas station in like Fuckville, Indiana or some shit because I (of course) left mine under a desk somewhere, and it finally fell apart. It’s chilly and sunny and beautiful. I wore my new boots to break ’em in, and I fuckin’ love stomping around in a short skirt and boots, but my ankle is expressing its displeasure in the form of swollen, throbbing flesh. Like, the least sexy kind of swollen, throbbing flesh.
And then I spent the evening playing Final Fantasy VIII because fuck you.
This blog will hopefully recommence being mildly interesting shortly. Colin (my lovely friend and host) is probably working from home tomorrow, which is probably a good reason for me to betake myself into Boston proper finally, since when left to my own devices I am usually cracking various joints loudly, belching, or hurling muttered expletives at whatever I happen to be doing, which isn’t particularly professional background noise.
And I also, as usual, am an asshole for being a complete sloth instead of going out and doing stuff and seeing people.