On not going to New York

Well, not now anyway. It’s funny, I seem to be quite… accepting of it all. Sad, for sure, and a bit lost – what am I supposed to do with my weekend now? I’m hoping I can go back to work on Tuesday, cuz I need those days now for when I rebook my flight, which I intend to do as soon as I know when I can get time off in October. But anyway, I’m not ranting and raving. Almost zen. Tho definitely sad. *sigh*

It’s odd, when you’ve been somewhere quite a few times and you have distinct images of it in your head… that place is kind of with you at all times. I can imagine being in New York whenever I wish (I can’t necessarily imagine being in Munich for instance, only having been twice and having hazy memories). And I had those images in my mind leading up to the trip – going into a deli, or making my way down a crowded 6th Avenue, or rummaging through cheapy K-mart clothes. Those images were possibilities then, and it made them exciting. Now it won’t happen for a while, and the images are still there, but they are tainted with sadness.

One of the amazing and baffling things about places you love is that they are always there, even while you are not in them. They’re still the same, hanging around their usual spot, being their awesome selves. And sometimes you pop over to ascertain that they have lost none of their awesomeness, you enjoy the experience for a while, and leave them to it again. I don’t know if that makes any sense, I’m kinda rambling cuz I’m tired and disappointed. But it’s something I often feel about Paris as well. Paris is always there. And always mine, of course. As is New York, too. It may not know it, but it is mine.

Oh I really need to get some more sleep. Woke up at 4.30am. And I had a cancellation text from BA. Which is nice of them, really. And it’s not their fault of course. Fucking Irene.