the plan
The plan was to- well there was no plan. The plan was to fly to a faraway continent and have an adventure. But a relentless exhaustion paired with a mild fever and a midsummer cold made the prospect of adventure incredibly unappealing, and as my heavy head and sick spirit contested, I was Burnt Out . So burnt out in fact, that with some show of drama, I stepped off the airplane right before it was to fly away, grabbed my suitcase, and took myself home to bed, unsure if I was a coward/weakling or a person of great will, but relieved to be sleeping in the northern hemisphere, in quiet old Greenpoint with my cat under my arm. I had just finished three weeks of travel and work/travel and work, and was, as they say, done. In the morning, I made a list of all the things I would do on my new vacation in Brooklyn, and then proceeded to ignore the list. Instead, I spent a week napping and reading on couches, beds, parks and park benches. It was the ki