C’est le temps de l’amour

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It’s been a bit of an off week, to be sure. Tuesday I was a sloth, and sloth-like behavior, no matter how understandable, does not improve the mood. I think the grief I felt took me a bit by surprise; not that I didn’t know how important and amazing Lily was, but I don’t think I expected to be quite so derailed by her passing. But everyone who spoke at the service reiterated how full of life and up for adventure she was, and so hiding behind darkness and hibernating are not appropriate responses to this loss. 

I feel as though I need a respite from New York but I’m not sure what that means – a week, a month, a year – I’ll start with a week. I had dinner with a girlfriend last night who is contemplating taking a year to travel and find herself; I say, if it’s logistically feasible and appealing to you, DO IT! In all likelihood I won’t be following suit, but I am going to plan a vacation soon. 

I have been writing fiction in the past couple of days, something I’d stopped doing a while ago. I’m gearing up to get back into that damn novel of mine; this is where I think a break from the city would be helpful. Of course I can write here, but this is where my whole life is, and it’s hard to get into the writing headspace for any protracted length of time when life is all around you. 

I’d like to write more right now but there are people in front of my desk discussing the thermostat so I will bid adieu for now.

Adieu for now. 

 

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