In Absentia: Day Two Hundred Ninety-One


I know that I will be fine, and I am sure in the knowledge that despite my absence until October 27th, even if I feel I haven’t properly prepared the both of us for this sudden drop-off in posts that will occur while I’m traveling.

My goal and my plan is to write 500 words everyday – in perpetuity, I guess –  and I definitely plan to be writing whilst en route to Italy and returning, however, my laptop is way too bulky and unwieldy to take along with everything else.  I also feel, in some ways that it will inhibit my enjoyment of the fair country if I’m worrying about where it is and if it’s safe or getting knocked about in the comings and goings of things.   I told myself there were no special circumstances, but these are special circumstances.

So.  Yes.  Today.  Last day at work before I go and this means I only have four days left of official active work on the job and I’m going to ignore the bomb threats and terrors that drive me to see white every few minutes and remember the good things, the good people, the insistent kindness I receive.  Along with the money on the couch I’ve left so that I can write notes and send thank yous (I’m sort of planning to write those until I’m exhausted tomorrow night and preparing to fly to Ireland. If I’m half as tired as I am now, I should drift off before I get a card addressed.  Exhausted and incredibly excited, throttled with the idea of simply not being sure what is going to happen, thinking it’s going to be good, knowing you’re going to try and make it good, but just not knowing.  It’s a lot more aliveness than I necessarily get on a day to day basis.) to those who gave it to me.

I did not stress.  Perhaps it will cause other people stress that I didn’t, but I can’t today, I need to be present for this epic adventure.  The sort that you hope, as a child, that you will someday, somehow find yourself invited on.  The sort they make movies and write stories about, and I’m not talking about shacking up with some tall, dark, handsome Italian gentleman (who also plays the banjo and loves MST3K or hitting all the famous Roman sites with some sort of goofy throughline), instead this is a story about a girl who shouldn’t move from her bed with all the things she’s got going on in her head to trap her there, and yet, here she is, touching down in the green, dream land of her youth and rising again to make it to this fantastical, ancient and alive realm that doesn’t know her from Eve and will take her nonetheless and remind her that….maybe that she doesn’t need to write in the third person.

I don’t know, I will see you on the flipside, my lovelies, be safe and well.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.