addictions

From the pages of my journal – January 26 2011

“Strangers are meant to divide

And tensions to rise like steam from the waterfalls

Tapping consciousness into the outline of an airport

Delayed.”

[There has been a coup d’état in my brain.]

I’m sitting at Newark airport for what feels like an entire childhood. My flight has been delayed, and let’s just say that I need to be in my own bed right now.

I have overtipped and overdrank incessantly for a week now in New York City. It’s grown on me but has yet to dazzle me to the point of Nirvana. I leave that to Buenos Aires, or an Eastern European city I haven’t discovered yet.

Despite the uncomfortable seats that insist on keeping my body vertical, airports calm me down. I usually scribble down something in my notebook right before my departure, desperate to find out what I’d be writing on the plane back…

I think about all the new feelings, all the new colours I’ll notice and all the stories I’ll spot hiding on the street corners and behind frozen windows, waiting to be told. Which is why traveling is so addictive. And I’m an addict, burning my money on wine and caffeine.

The galleries were as always most exciting. A good exhibition inspires me as much as a good novel does. But I’ll write about art later.

And of course, the company: Two of my best, two of my oldest, two of my funniest friends were with me for the most part. A trip isn’t worth it without tears, and we had that too…we had alone time and dance time and beers in bed and Halva on the road and disagreements about where to go. We answered a dozen questionnaires, the kind of questions that reveal your most naked thoughts without you even noticing it.

And then I was alone again. And loved. And I always wonder what is it about love that I love and hate so much.

Finally, we’re boarding. My mascara’s all over my face, but I’ll be nice.