I like you, Massachusetts, but somehow I think it’ll be a long time before I see you again.
As I write this, my train is speeding through the Boston outskirts. On the left, we’re passing through what looks like the bedroom community for the Massachusetts shit factory workers, judging from the patchwork scrap metal architecture. On my side, however, the trees go by. Some leafless skeletons being showed up by a few determined deciduous covering their tree-privates with red and orange.
Inside the train, I can enjoy this perfect, contained environment. The snow from yesterday turned into rain but I’m dry and shoeless. My phone’s recharging, I finished Wigfield and I’m about to start with Diary, I have a scarf and my credit debt is so far manageable. I have this TV screen window that’s constantly changing, interrupted only by the three-second head rush cameo of a train heading towards Boston instead of away from it. And I’m not even pissed that all my seventh grade geography has failed me when I try to visualize which states I’m passing through.
I guess that’s why I’ve chosen to deface the final, blank — and otherwise useless — back page of Wigfield. I want to remember that even while traveling through the shit weather after being gone for three months, I can still feel comfortable.
Saturday, December 18, 2004
A short-term time capsule. I wrote this while travelling and just found it. Post-worthy, I guess.