Back in bed in NOLA.Â Just in from a LONG flight from Boston THROUGH HOUSTON to here.Â Direct flight to Houston is enough on its own.Â I paid $5 for a Continental Airlines Margarita just to see what that was all about.Â Turns out Margaritas also come in airplane sized bottles, a la the red and white wines they serve.Â
Houston airport is GIANT.Â Bright as day inside.Â Signs for Customs and Immigration and per usual when I leave Boston, I am reminded how most of the places I visit in the U.S. these days have their ethnic/racial minorities in visible sight, and not just behind the counter taking my order.Â Boston is one segregated city.Â (Not the the rest of the lower 48 is one hot bed of integrated bliss.Â It’s just that it’s becoming disconcertingly obvious to me how in Boston sighting an African-American feels like a notable event, whereas in Houston tonight people are ordering Starbucks in Spanish and it’s not until I board my planes for Southern destinations that I am reunited with my black peeps.)Â
But I digress.Â The reason for the late night post when really I need to sleep immediately is that tonight when I landed, I felt a sort of homecoming.Â A happy familiarity, a glad to be back sort of sensation. Uh oh.Â That’s a first.Â I am so emotionally conflicted over where I want to be these days – NOLA, Boston, profiled on the pages of Vogue in a Fall 2006 tunic (ok, give me a few years for that one) – it’s entirely reminiscent of my romantic relationships, with one foot in each place and thus, one foot out the door in both the same time.Â Torn b/w 2 lovers.Â It’s excruciating.
On a lovely lovely walk last night with Wesley through the gorgeous, serene Chestnut Hill ‘burbs (we picked out Wesley’s country home, given he is already ensconced in his urban mansion in the South End), he recommended I try to “stand still” for a moment.Â Hoping that the sensation of being caught up in and pulled along by intense relationships with new cities and new men would ebb, desist, so that I might actually catch my breath and have a moment to figure out what I want from them.Â These suitors.Â I am in one of my moments where my mental anxiety so over takes me that I feel very Victorian, emotionally fatigued, like I might take to my bed and not get out of it for some time.Â Sigh.
But I am on the ground here for 48 hours, tomorrow should be an eventful day, some of our projects are moving forward, there is reason to celebrate.Â And then back to Boston for 4 days, then here for 3.Â I am thinking of taking the remainder of the month off from NOLA, after that, but who knows, I might be addicted to crazy, scary, stimulating, isolated complexity of life down here. With the storms and the drinks and the drama.Â 4 weeks from tomorrow is the 1 year anniversary of Katrina.Â And then it’s Labor Day and then school starts.Â And I’m a 3rd year Phd student.Â Sounds dangerously close to 7th yr, 9th yr.Â Some how 2nd year to me sounded like 50% of the way through.Â 3rd year sounds like any game plan could just unravel at any moment.
I’m rambling.Â Time for sleep.Â My hair is long again.Â Where did this summer go???Â