One of my best friends is mid-rough patch at present. The upside is that he needs a lot of company, so we've spent a lot more time together than usual.
I like my friend; even when he's down, he's fine company. And my own dating life has officially re-entered stagnancy. So this is good for me, too, to keep occupied. (Otherwise I'd be wallowing. I'm in a wallowing mood. So you should thank my friend for his help in sparing you this.)
Last night, we had been talking outside by his car, and as we were saying goodnight, he sighed and looked into the sky.
"I just need to be somewhere else," he said, almost ruefully. "Just go to some mountain or something and be by myself. Wouldn't that be nice."
My reaction to this was surprisingly visceral.
Indeed, how absolutely perfect -- to be somewhere else. To not be in the city for one day. To not hear sirens. To not have to hear garbage trucks and Fed Ex trucks and jackhammers and bus motors and T speakers announcing the next train to Ashmont. To not check e-mail. To not be wishing someone would write. To not smell cat litter and to not have to remember to sort the recycling. To not feel incompetent because the floor didn't get washed this weekend. To not be addicted to expensive coffee. To not have to discuss cost basis information with anyone. To not be beholden to anyone.
Every once in awhile, the fantasy of "away" has a nice ring. Maybe the spring weather is playing with me.
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