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Vienna Waits for You

I hope yesterday's entry didn't come off wrong. I meant to imply I was afraid I would inadvertently bring further destruction and mayhem to Amsterdam, not that the loss of this beloved, historic old tree was merely an inauspicious augur for my trip. Of course, either one is magical thinking, which probably stems from a massive ego. I'm sorry.

Not a very good day so far. I woke up with fragments of a dream of being maddeningly attracted to some writer (God save me) I was traveling with, no one I can remember at the moment, and an urge to listen to Billy Joel's "Vienna." I put on the song, but it didn't help. "How could you have felt so strongly just last week that this song applied to you?" my mind berated me. "This song is for a young, ambitious, hypercreative person who's trying to get everything done at once! You do nothing! 'Take the phone off the hook and disappear for a while' -- like you're so in demand! Hell, you don't even WANT to be in demand!" And so on. My mind is really not very nice to me sometimes.

But I don't care. Vienna -- well, Amsterdam -- still waits for me. And soon. The way I've been some of the time lately, I don't know how the hell I think I'm going to take care of myself for nine days in a foreign country, but it scarcely feels foreign to me anymore and I'll be OK there. And at least there won't be a Times-Picayune with heartbreaking triggery stories every morning. In deciding to leave for the actual anniversary, I totally failed to account for the K+5 coverage that would lead up to it over these past couple of weeks. Of course I'm glad it's there. But it kind of makes me want to cling to the ground and scream "NO, NO, I CAN'T GET ON THAT PLANE, I'M NOT GOING ANYWHERE, I MUST HAVE BEEN CRAZY TO THINK I COULD GO ANYWHERE."

Boo fucking hoo, I know.


(Deleted comment)
Aug. 25th, 2010 12:43 pm (UTC)
I was once told not to speak to myself in a way I wouldn't speak to another person. It helps to control your thought-meats sometimes.
I'm sure you'll have a wonderful trip.

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