(no subject)
Every few days I get emails from Katy. They have titles like "hitchhiking," "cliff diving," "bungee jumping," and "cyclones." Invariably, the first sentence is "Don't tell Mother." I wonder why I spend my days as the victim of administrative drive-bys and neo Marxist pedants when I could be hitchhiking across the Iberian Peninsula or something. The desire to run is always festering. It has contaminated my blood. I can sniff it out in early Spring or when I look up from a book or when I hear the train approaching the metro station. I can only imagine the thrill, the deep fulfillment of always being on my way, never feeling the disappointment of the arrival and the settling. Maybe I could live in the train station...