Recently in consultation with one of my charming companions I was freaking out and describing the onslaught of attention from locals.
He inquired So are you going to run off and have a torrid affair?
Shocked, I said No. That would not be advisable!
He laughed and asked Since when has that ever stopped you? – then offered up a concise list of my recent follies, including but not limited to leaving the Northwest on a whim, settling in an improbable new city, and spending my entire life savings on a boat – without any previous interest in matters nautical.
I shrugged off the points; this particular character is marauding around New York City with Ana Erotica and should thus be able to generate at least a little sympathy for my woefully stranded self. Instead, he asked what Mark Mitchell would advise.
That is easy – he would tell me that I should be in Seattle with him. Obviously. I don’t even need to ask; I know full well how to solve the underlying problem. I need to go back to the Puget Sound, to be with my friends and family, not just for the decadent wild times but for the daily gritty reality of helping in times of trouble.
Beyond that, I honestly need to dwell in that landscape. I’ve been homesick ever since I left for college nineteen years ago and it is very clear that this will never change. I just don’t have the money or time to take the cure.
If I am resolutely avoiding all local entanglements even if they are just invitations to tea, and cannot go home or travel at all, what is left? Tedious things.
Like the fact that my Annual Horrifying Cancer Tests came due while I was in Prague, which means my mother was alerted and will now exert long-distance pressure to reschedule.
I would probably try to ignore the whole thing a bit longer but a month with her always include reminders that while I was the youngest cousin diagnosed with cancer, I am now one of the oldest surviving members of the clan.
There really isn’t anything more entertaining to do here so hey, why not be ascetic? I certainly have the personality for it. I’ve already mostly given up alcohol, chocolate, and (this is the hardest) cinnamon jelly beans.
If memory serves a strictly controlled doctor approved regimen would mainly involve eating, well, raw carrots. Except I can’t because I do not have cartilage in my jaw. Will I really turn into a raw food macrobiotic sort of person? Will I run out and buy a juice machine? I certainly hope not. It is far too difficult to shop in this town!