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.