I have at least five unfinished posts pending but right at the moment I just can't find strength to think any thought to the end. It might have to do something with autumn suddenly planting its cold, nacked heel on my throat or the fact that my life doesn't allow much room for dancing.
I missed out on the Tango Argentino Festival Wuppertal almost completely save for two milongas.
I've been reading a lot though as it's one of those activities that aren't tied to time.
And I'm getting this travel itch again. Sometimes I don't even know what triggered this tugging feeling in the pit of my stomach: a picture in the newspaper, a bout of wind - but there it is, tugging away.
However this time it occured when I found one of the old snapshots showing me laughing with the head thrown back, the elegant nose of Flatiron building behind me.
There were times in my life when every second day I would drive out to the airport and watch planes taking off. I looked at the timetable and imagined stepping out of the pot-bellied airbus in the city with the name I couldn't even pronounce properly, let alone find them on the map.
Right now I'm not even sure I would want to explore something new. My skin thinned down to the point of disintegrating and even if I wanted adventure, I could take in just as much.
But I would love to go somewhere sunny.
Why the fuck?
5 weeks ago