Time Was Merely A Suggestion This Week.
There is a particular glamour to temporary disorientation. To live out of a carry-on. To bend with time, rather than try to manage it. Or so I am convincing myself, despite still being exhausted and back in my own time zone. I flew across the country this past week (and a bit of an ocean) for a blink-and-you-miss-it visit. Day One : Airports and airplane windows. And shitty wifi at cruising altitude. Day Two : Warm air. Salt on the skin. Frizz in the hair. Familiar strangers. Day Three : Back through time zones like perfume through a room. Morning happened at night. Coffee felt like a suggestion. And my watch became decorative. But cocktails were warm and sweet... The.cobblestoned streets were lit I with Christmas spice and color. And not once did I surrender my black sweater style, chunky frames, and bright lipstick to the 82 degreee weather. I left as I arrived. Everything efficiently folded into bags inside my carry-on. And a Starbucks in my hand. I got ...
