Dear Readers

After my prolonged absence, I'm surprised you're back. Let's move on, yes?

An assorted combination of events has resulted in my having two whole days off this weekend. In a row. I cannot find the words to adequately impress upon you the rarity of this occasion. Due to other events, I have nothing whatsoever to do with myself. Friends/family are working, out of town, or otherwise indisposed. I had plans to return to Montauk via train today, but alas, the best laid plans... I am destined to eat all my delicious picnic food by myself.

What has driven me back to the blog is not the desire to write. Nor a need to share with my friends/family/unknown audience what's been happening to me. I think what really drives me here is the fact that my therapist is out of town for two weeks, and at the end of week one, there are far too many thoughts and feelings crowding my head and heart, and I am looking for some sort of pressure-relief valve. (I never imagined I'd grow so used to my weekly sessions that I'd feel such a difference when denied them.)

I am a pretty busy girl, but I don't, in truth, think that's the reason I've been avoiding this here ol' blog. I think the reason is that I had a lot of adventures while I was away. And as much as I love adventuring, I don't do nearly as much of it here in the City. That's not for lack of opportunity, I could create opportunities if I wanted. Yes, that does require some effort. Yes, that does require some wheedling of friends to come and adventure with me (and I hate wheedling). And yes, it usually does involve some money, even if it's just for a post-adventure refreshment of some kind. But I live in New York City, in the land of opportunity, and I just don't go adventuring every night. Or every week. And I think I'm a little ashamed of that. I feel the need to work up something more impressive, something more worthy of blogging. And when I don't, I don't write.

Well, maybe you won't mind some non-adventure posts.

Some thoughts of late:

--I went to Montauk on Monday. I've wanted to go to Montauk since I saw Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and witnessed Joel Barrish fulfill the ultimate work/Valentine's Day doldrum dream of just getting on a train and getting the hell out. To Montauk. I've been wanting to obey Kate Winslet's beckoning voice to, "meet me in Montauk..." Well, I did not run into any Clementines or Joels there, but then I didn't have the whole 3 hour train ride to catch the eye of one because myself and a couple of friends took a zipcar instead. The ocean there was fantastic. Rough, cold, engaging. There was only a small span that we were allowed to swim in because the water was too rough outside of those limitations (which I certainly discovered when I accidentally swam out of the lines). Luckily, not too many people wanted to swim, so I had plenty of space to myself. I love swimming in the ocean, because it's a constant battle. Chris McCandless's character said something I love in the film Into the Wild:

The sea's only gifts are harsh blows, and occasionally the chance to feel strong. Now I don't know much about the sea, but I do know that that's the way it is here. And I also know how important it is in life not necessarily to be strong but to feel strong. To measure yourself at least once. To find yourself at least once in the most ancient of human conditions. Facing the blind death stone alone, with nothing to help you but your hands and your own head.

That last part is the part I love. I love how the ocean demands physical engagement of you. And I love how, in the ocean, I am quite literally immersed in nature. I don't know when I'll have the opportunity to go out there again, which makes me really sad. It was a perfect day.

--I saw the Broadway production of Red by John Logan. It was transferred from the Donmar in London. It was f-ing brilliant. I savored every single word. Kept chewing on them for days afterward. I want to watch and read that play until the entire thing is memorized. I want to play Eddie Redmayne's character so badly. Damn gender.

--I was sitting in my friendly neighborhood bar this afternoon watching the Spain/Paraguay match of the World Cup. A Spaniard happened to sit down next to me, and we chatted throughout the game. When it was over, Vanessa and I paid our bill, and the Spaniard paid a little more attention to me, as his eyes no longer had to be glued to the screen. He was interested. I found him interesting. Without even thinking about thinking about it, my instincts kicked in and I deftly flitted away from the prolonged eye contact he was offering me, and the opportunity to exchange numbers. I ran away. And beat myself up as I was doing it. WHY do I do such things?! What is so scary about not being rejected? I could have had a Spanish lover, but now all I have is regret over sidestepped potential. I am now sitting in my friendly neighborhood Starbucks, hoping this local Spaniard will stop in for a beverage, and a second try at me. My chances don't look good.