Good almost afternoon, Monday. It's hard to write or think after this weekend. It's time for this country to stop saying "this isn't who we are". Because it very much is who we are. And we need prolific, Nobel Prize-worthy sea change. It's hard to take. Extraordinary times.
And to top it off, New York in August. Ugh. At the beginning of the Summer, I'm like "hooray Summerinthecity". By the end, I'm like "omg Summerinthemotherfuckingcity".
Every time I am stuck in this town in August, I feel a sense of depletion and perhaps a smattering of defeat. Although it's beyond lovely to have what seems like the entire city to yourself most weekends, it's hot. And a little smelly. And there's a seasonal fatigue hanging in the air as we wait for the air to crisp and the leaves to turn and it feels a bit flatlined in terms of the typical sense of possibility one feels when living here. I just found myself fantasizing about the French countryside and road trips and copious wine and earthy food. And then I switched to laying in cool water somewhere, destination unknown. And then back to France.
There should be a rule that we all need to retreat in August. Like the Europeans do. Otherwise, when left to my own devices, I'll just sit here and bum myself out (make myself feel better?) listening to Nico's "These Days" while I work. I go out walking...
But the good news about New York in August is surely September. Because it's just around the corner. And that whole rentrée vibe takes over in the city and it's almost time for sweaters and you order a hot coffee instead of an iced and then suddenly you're missing Summer in a wistful way that's poetic but you can't wait for Fall. Sigh. I love the seasons, don't you?
I just wanted to share my feels this (almost) afternoon. I'm glad I spent a week at the beach and all but it's August in New York and I can honestly say I'd like to be somewhere "other". I'm tired of all the awful news. I'm tired of the heat messing up my makeup. I'm just plain tired. Don't look at me.
Cause that's what's up this sleepy, sultry Summer day in the 212. Yours, in seasonal disorders and such. Where to next? XO