Sunday, June 25, 2006

PIECES OF ME

Everything is all weird and anti-climactic and spooky right now.

I've just returned from Wales, and before that Italy, and before that 18 other European countries. Really. Twenty countries. I've been everywhere. And I promise I'll write about Italy soon; I'm just not in the mood today - I'm exhausted and so out of it and have a bit of a summer cold.

I'm moving back to New York in exactly one (1) month. I'm sitting here in the middle of the living room floor, decidedly alone for approximately one week's time because my flatmate has also been away during June. Sometimes I get in these moods when I tell myself that solitude is necessary and my only option of maintaining a clear head - even though deep down I know that I'll really drive myself temporarily crazy, inside my cloudy brain. I'm in oddball hibernation. During these times I don't answer my phone or my doorbell; rarely respond to emails; and even more rarely, sit still.

There are piles of stuff everywhere. Hundreds upon hundreds of stacks of miscellaneous paperwork, some important, some very important, and much of it soon to be tossed into the recycling bin. I've ransacked both my closets; there are mounds of clothes - tshirts, jeans, nice trousers, button-down shirts, sweaters, jumpers, jackets, cardigans, coats, trainers, boots, dress shoes, and more - everywhere, to be donated to charity. There are giant stacks of books, from fiction to textbooks to travel books to more, congregating near the floor-to-ceiling windows. Bags of electronic cords and computer discs and converters that nowadays seem to serve no purpose. Mountains of random academia I don't know what to do with. Small mounds of leftover international money and loose change - Euros, American Dollars, British Pounds, Hungarian Fornit, Czech Koronas, Danish Krones, Swedish Kronas, Swiss Francs, & Mexican Pesos (why the fuck do I have pesos in the UK?). Overstuffed leather CD and DVD booklets. Dangling press passes from premieres, awards shows, and other big London shoots, all twisted around each other. Overflowing accordian file folders. And more. And more and more and more and more.

And I'm not even a pack-rat. I don't really collect stuff. Where did all this stuff come from? I'm doing again what I did 2.5 years ago - preparing to stuff my entire life into two check-in suitcases and two carry-ons to take from London and return to New York.

So much has changed. But this feels like deja vu. So, so, so much has changed. But the best thing about this - the absolute luckiest thing - is that I am returning to my best friends in the world (and Awesome, of course), the people I left behind. Far more important than all this stuff surrounding me on the living room floor, are the people in New York who've known me since my late teens or early 20s, the ones who know more about me - great, good, bad, horrible, and illegal - than anyone really should. I've met quite a few people here with whom I know I'll remain in contact, but they just don't share with me the complicated history that my New York "family" does. And it's time to return to them. I am tired of jet-setting and making billions of amusing anecdotes in jumpy conversations with people I will most likely never see again...for at least a little while.

The next few months are going to feel really fucking strange with all this (re-)transition. I'm tired. Pleasant, but tired. Proud, but tired. Pensive, but tired. Purposeful, but tired. It's just time...

QUOTE OF THE DAY:
True friends stab you in the front. - Oscar Wilde