Have dinner by yourself. That’s always a lot of fun.
Wander aimlessly around the hotel. This is a huge hotel, so there’s lots of space to wander aimlessly around.
Go up and down the elevator for no reason at all. The people going up are going to their rooms. I’m not. Those going down are going out. I’m not.
I seriously think about the house phone and calling my room 3003 and letting it ring for a very long time. Then wondering where I’m at and when I will return. Should I leave a message at the desk saying that when I return I should call myself?
This is purgatory, I have found purgatory. It’s a place of indefinite prolonging. There are no wrong or right paths, there are simply paths. This isn’t nihilism, or cynicism; this is a place where everything is okay, even when it isn’t. It’s where you watch and let a love grow, as the grass would, a painfully slow becoming. It is okay that it’s painful sometimes, it’s supposed to be.
I felt so sure of everything. My love to you so well received. And I just strutted around your town knowing I didn’t let you down. The truth be known, the truth be told, my heart was always fairly cold, posing to be as warm as yours, my way of getting in your world. But now I’m out and I’ve had time to look around and think and sink into another world, a world that’s filled with guilt and overwhelming shame.
I need to go back to San Francisco. There’s not a thing in the world stopping me right now, and I should probably take advantage of that. I’ve found myself looking at air fares all night, which eventually turned into flipping through photos of my last visit. Upon seeing familiar places in those photos, I couldn’t say how many times my heart jumped at the thought of being in that same spot once more. Every dining experience, every street, consignment shop, hike, discovery, has come back and hit me tonight. Driving around downtown blasting erotic 70’s disco, walking around the Presidio down to the Golden Gate Bridge, waking up every morning to a view of the entire bay area, riding the second fastest motorcycle in the world down the breathtaking twists and turns of US-1 along with Marina, Patrick, and Eddie, feeling so miniscule and irrelevant under the mothering limbs of the Redwoods. I’ve been eternally taken in by the bay area, and I’ve got that urge to find myself there again.
“In bourgeois society, therefore, the past dominates the present; in Communist society, the present dominates the past. In bourgeois society capital is independent and has individuality, while the living person is dependent and has no individuality.”