That itch again

I don't feel like writing about places today. I don't feel like doing any of what I officially started out to do on this blog.

Today, I just want to write.

About that glove that I lost last winter, the one that set me free. About the feeling of ineptitude when I stare into blank faces week after week, trying to convince myself that what I say, makes a connection somewhere. I try, before the bubble bursts. Right in my face. About roads that I have lost to the past. Some by choice, and some perforce. About roads that I see stretch out ahead. That I wonder if I have the strength to traverse.

About human connections. That light up in the most unexpected places. And the ones that collapse unexpectedly. About friends that I make and try my best, to keep. And those that I lose. And the pointlessness of ruing that loss. And in the most annoying academic way, the pointlessness of the pointlessness of ruing that loss. Ha! (Girl Interrupted?)

I want to write about the joy of finding people, places and adventures. Of building from scratch. And then that ever present need to move on. To force closure where none was ever required. I want to write crazy today. Like I said, to stop being official and become the rebel I (never) was (though Ma may disagree :) To forsake routine and go back to Hampi, to Goa, to other frontiers that I haven't touched yet. Soon! If nowhere else, it will be back to the craziness of NYC.