We arrived in NYC in the late afternoon, and I’d taken a Xanax to get over being the cramped Lucky Pierre of a center seat, so I’m feeling a bit woozy as I post here late at night. I went and saw the first of the 24 Hour Plays where my brother did an awesome reprisal of Dan Kois’ play “The Rumor,” which was especially newsworthy since the show started at 11pm, and Sean’s got his own fish to fry all week.
Just like last year, same week, we stumbled upon the best weather of a summer that was, by all accounts, cruelly hot. It’s in the 80s, but pleasant, none of that nad-drenching horrorshow that accompanies temps in the 90s and humidity nearing 100%. For her part, Lucy stumbled down 9th Avenue like she owned the place, stopping to point out people wearing shoes. The funny thing about shoes; a lot of people wear them. Especially in Manhattan.
It has been long enough since our last extended stay that I am no longer feeling like we exactly live here anymore. I don’t feel like a Californian either; we’re in some liminal state of homelessness. Walking through the West Village tonight, I certainly knew where everything was, but I have lost the kinship I used to share with the other working stiffs I knew from the endless subway rides to the dot-com job.
I’ve often pretended to still live in places I’d long left – when I went to college at UNC, I still kept a post office box in Tidewater, VA just to have a constant connection. We have an apartment here, but it’s rented out, and thus not ours. The day will come when we have to make a decision, if only for Lucy’s schooling, but for now, we’re very much floating.