This is the morning that I began in earnest looking forward to returning home to San Francisco after nearly two weeks in Buenos Aires with Fernanda. I think that we have together, and hopefully separately, had a pretty good time on this trip.
After showering, I prepared myself to go to one of the local coffee shops to write a bit before being joined by her, and thought as I readied myself to leave the hotel about what waiting, which I seemed to be experiencing, really feels like.
Writing about it now, a little later in the day, I realize that delaying or being delayed, beginning and ending are simply ways that I have always managed the powerful and frightening sense that things are actually continuing.
I remember in my early teen years convincing my father to buy me tickets to see the rock group KISS, the ticket sales beginning so early that there were several months before the actual day of the show. I had those two tickets push-pinned to a cork board in my room, and though very excited at the prospect of seeing my favorite band, I recall that anticipation was at times excruciating. I remember thinking that it was too far away to ever happen, that it couldn't be worth that pain.
So it is that now, with one and a half days left here and looking forward to being both here and home, I am able to imagine without too much difficulty being back in our apartment. I trust, or rather imagine that it will happen, and perhaps imagination is what I have always been needed to fill the abyss I face when looking towards the unknown.
After showering, I prepared myself to go to one of the local coffee shops to write a bit before being joined by her, and thought as I readied myself to leave the hotel about what waiting, which I seemed to be experiencing, really feels like.
Writing about it now, a little later in the day, I realize that delaying or being delayed, beginning and ending are simply ways that I have always managed the powerful and frightening sense that things are actually continuing.
I remember in my early teen years convincing my father to buy me tickets to see the rock group KISS, the ticket sales beginning so early that there were several months before the actual day of the show. I had those two tickets push-pinned to a cork board in my room, and though very excited at the prospect of seeing my favorite band, I recall that anticipation was at times excruciating. I remember thinking that it was too far away to ever happen, that it couldn't be worth that pain.
So it is that now, with one and a half days left here and looking forward to being both here and home, I am able to imagine without too much difficulty being back in our apartment. I trust, or rather imagine that it will happen, and perhaps imagination is what I have always been needed to fill the abyss I face when looking towards the unknown.
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