I’m sitting in my car. The sun is beaming down on my head, forming a non-holy halo of heat. It’s hot, I forgot to put deodorant on today and I can feel beads of sweat forming on my forehead. I hope I don’t smell. I wish I wasn’t wearing jeans. It’s almost 4:00 and this is the first time I’m leaving the house all day. I swear, I’m not that big of a loser, I’m not sitting in my car blogging. Well, OK I am, but I’m waiting for my friend at the BART station and I had some time to kill. I haven’t blogged in a while and I’m gonna be honest, I miss it. I miss you lonely blog world.
Today, I spent hours on the computer in my bathrobe looking up apartments in Maui instead of doing any actual work, or dare I say, looking up actual apartments that I may actually live in, in London. I decided that I'm moving to London for grad school and I'm excited but have extreme anxiety ... daily. Needless to say fantasizing about living a perma-vacation in Maui was a fun little break from reality. The thought of being in Maui for any period of time makes me feel elated, at peace, and so much less depressed that I’m fairly certain I should daydream about Maui whenever I feel any sort of anxst. It should be my happy place that I go too, in my mind of course, whenever things in my head start going loco. Maui is my xanax. As I craiglist searched three bedroom apartments overlooking the ocean, with beach front balconies, and hard wood floors, that cost the same price as a studio in San Francisco, with crack addicts outside (and next door), I really started to ponder why I don’t live there. I fantasized of running around in a bikini (15 lbs skinner, of course) on the beach, and then dunking my entire (rock-hard) body in the ocean. I miss Maui. It’s been almost exactly a year since I was there for Amy and Peter’s wedding. When I think of Maui I remember eating papayas for breakfast with lime juice. I remember lazy days by our hotel pool and lazier ones on the beach drinking sangria and snorkeling. What I remember the fondest is my romance on the beach—with the perfect and hottest vacation fling man in the world. Perfect in the “you’re the hottest man I’ve ever met and you surf and you are sexy and perfect and I’m on vacation and I am fairly certain I am in love.” Perfect in that way. Yes, he was a caterer at my friend’s wedding. Yes, he doesn’t drink alcohol. Yes he doesn’t eat cake. But it was all just perfection in my head. Oh Maui. That’s what I think of when I think of Maui. No wonder it is my “happy place.”
But in reality I'm moving to London. My trip there was awesome. I fell in love with the city and as much anxiety that I have, I know the end result will be worth it ... so here goes ... off on another adventure, yet day dreaming about being on the beach. Story of my life. I promise, I'll keep in better touch blog world.
