getting there
I have been really homesick over the past couple of days. I'm really looking forward to my jamabalaya stitch n bitch tomorrow. I have a feeling it will be heavy on the bitching and light on the stitching, but either way, I'm sure it will be great.
I keep dreaming about home. I keep dreaming about trying to get home. Most my dreams are about me in transit with a scrappy group of friends and family, tag-teaming up along the way to make our way back to New Orleans. It's like I'm perpetually walking to New Orleans. I don't know what I'm going back for. There's no wedding, no funeral, no reason. Just the sunset over bayou saint john, a drive along the lakefront, dodging potholes uptown, meeting friends for coffee, singing in the car, picking up po'boys.
I haven't been exercising all winter because of this never ending cold. I keep swearing one more week and I'll go to the doctor, but I just don't have the energy to go and have him tell me it's just a cold. I am finding it hard to find the energy for a lot of things that would actually be good for me. I'm glad I'm having people over tomorrow. Few things make me happier than feeding people and introducing people. I think it'll be a nice get together of my very varigated collection of Bryn Mawr friends and various other friends. Jambalaya, baked eggplant and the promise of King Cake among other things. It'll be lovely.
I am feeling better from an excess of sleep, three mugs of coffee over brunch at Cousin John's with Tim, Brendan and Rochelle, and that tylenol cold is kicking in. Tim is doing my laundry for me down the street. Three loads. What a good man. I'm supposed to be reading this French translation of an Italian novel so I better get back to that. There are times like this when I wonder how a Sacred Heart girl with braids ended up taking this crazy path around the United States and ended up here in Brooklyn making a living through books. There are times when I want to go directly back to where it all began, Baptist Hospital on Napoleon Aveune. But they changed the name of the hospital years ago, and since the hurricane and all the deaths in the hospital that followed, it's closed. I'm here and I should be happy.
And I am most of the time, but there's an ache of homesickness that always exists in me for New Orleans. It's been this way since I left for college, but growing up in New Orleans, I always had a wanderlust to leave NOLA... so I guess I'm just mean to be on a journey at all times and isn't that what life is anyway. Postcards along the way and a bag packed at all times. I've placed my roots in Brooklyn for now. There are books on a shelf and clothes in closets. I'm here. I just try to make my way back to New Orleans every night in my dreams.
I keep dreaming about home. I keep dreaming about trying to get home. Most my dreams are about me in transit with a scrappy group of friends and family, tag-teaming up along the way to make our way back to New Orleans. It's like I'm perpetually walking to New Orleans. I don't know what I'm going back for. There's no wedding, no funeral, no reason. Just the sunset over bayou saint john, a drive along the lakefront, dodging potholes uptown, meeting friends for coffee, singing in the car, picking up po'boys.
I haven't been exercising all winter because of this never ending cold. I keep swearing one more week and I'll go to the doctor, but I just don't have the energy to go and have him tell me it's just a cold. I am finding it hard to find the energy for a lot of things that would actually be good for me. I'm glad I'm having people over tomorrow. Few things make me happier than feeding people and introducing people. I think it'll be a nice get together of my very varigated collection of Bryn Mawr friends and various other friends. Jambalaya, baked eggplant and the promise of King Cake among other things. It'll be lovely.
I am feeling better from an excess of sleep, three mugs of coffee over brunch at Cousin John's with Tim, Brendan and Rochelle, and that tylenol cold is kicking in. Tim is doing my laundry for me down the street. Three loads. What a good man. I'm supposed to be reading this French translation of an Italian novel so I better get back to that. There are times like this when I wonder how a Sacred Heart girl with braids ended up taking this crazy path around the United States and ended up here in Brooklyn making a living through books. There are times when I want to go directly back to where it all began, Baptist Hospital on Napoleon Aveune. But they changed the name of the hospital years ago, and since the hurricane and all the deaths in the hospital that followed, it's closed. I'm here and I should be happy.
And I am most of the time, but there's an ache of homesickness that always exists in me for New Orleans. It's been this way since I left for college, but growing up in New Orleans, I always had a wanderlust to leave NOLA... so I guess I'm just mean to be on a journey at all times and isn't that what life is anyway. Postcards along the way and a bag packed at all times. I've placed my roots in Brooklyn for now. There are books on a shelf and clothes in closets. I'm here. I just try to make my way back to New Orleans every night in my dreams.
posted by lequincampe at 4:01 PM
1 Comments:
A lovely entry.
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