And now I’m on a plane to New York. I have 60 hours in New York City: it feels like a challenge. I’ve never liked this city. However, I’m fairly certain that that’s my fault, not its.
Have I said this before? How wonderfully disorientating I find it to land in a foreign place after dark, not knowing what to expect when you wake the next day…
Mostly, what these otherwise unconnected stories — unconnected save in that they all happened to me — have in common is me being awkward or uncomfortable. Sometimes both. Enjoy.
Day 1 of my incarceration…
I turned 30 last month. I finally admitted, under duress and in the face of unyeilding mathematics and biology, that I’m not a kid anymore.
Lots of new things: snow on the ground, Twickenham and the trickiness of making new friends.
I have lots of gunk –both the emotional type and the more sputum-like — in my body to get out and that’s what brings me back to Qua’an’s House of Pain, otherwise known as Li’s Torture Palace, otherwise known as my local Thai massage parlour.
*Disclaimer: not much about trains in here at all.
Two vulpine greeters dressed in sleek black take in my outfit from top to toe….
In which we think about the elusive and fickle nature of love.