HELLO I AM IN MONTREAL

I am dizzyingly tired. My mother and I had an uneventful journey, our room is lovely, the restaurant downstairs was lovely, I love this city. And it’s cold and perfect.

I surprised myself by actually carrying on conversations in French. Like actual back and forth, multiple sentence exchanges.

The emotional shift I experience when I am suddenly anywhere but here is so visceral. I walked out of the hotel after dinner, and I just felt — happy. Okay. Confident and capable and a little sexy, and as though I rediscovered the me-shaped hole in around which I ooze, poking feebly at the edges, and remembered there is a shape to it after all.

I wish I could ever feel that when I live in a space, instead of existing by definition of my absence.

Have some pictures anyway.

 

good yard,

-me

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