Moving On
I’m moving back to Manhattan this weekend.
I haven’t been this excited for something since the birthdays and Christmases of my youth. I’ve been downplaying the gestating euphoria for the sake of clearing my conscious mind and letting it take care of my pedestrian duties. I finish those with barely any enthusiasm nowadays because all that anxious energy is directed at this Saturday.
Haven’t read much in the way of books. Haven’t written much of anything.
The listlessness of my language here actually speaks to how withheld my excitement is. This postlet isn’t funny or reactionary or anything, really. It’s like I’m having so much fun immersing myself in this situation that I can’t write about it, not yet at least, or simply that I don’t want to write about it for fear that I’ll be sacrificing some of its energy if I address it externally.
But when outer is inner, outside is inside, and it’s all just a question of placement, right?
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