Okay so the first post was about today and stuff I actually did and all that jazz, which was good, I had to get that down, but there’s something else, something more, something that reallydoesn’t fit in with that first post, so I’m going to do it here and now, in another post on the same day, which is a bit odd, but that’s the way love goes.
I’m in Richmond, VA, and it’s July and while this may not be the old south you think about when you think Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, or even Streetcar Named Desire or whatever, Richmond is still kinda old south. Definitely south of the Mason Dixon, definitely historically important, but also definitely fucking hot. Let me say that again, it is FUCKING HOT here. I already wrote some of my impressions of walking around Richmond the other day, but this is a bit different, picture all of this coming out of my mouth with a thick southern drawl, the words falling out of my mouth real slow like, cause in the south everything’s a bit slower. The heat here isn’t actually that bad, but the humidity is killer. I mean like it might kill you. You walk out of some nice AC onto the street and it ain’t like you hit a wall, that would be too impersonal, the humidity here isn’t a wall you slam into it’s a 400lbs man sitting on your chest as he eats a bean burrito and giggles. I’m figuring out that there’s a reason no one runs here, and it’s cause you will die. You want to run in the south you join an gym and go find yourself a nice tread mill in a building with air so cold you can practically see your breath, cause you sure as hell are not running outside.
This is all a bit cliche, but in the south, or anywhere when it gets this hot, but I’m in the south right now, so we’ll go with that, tempers flare just a little bit easier, people stay calm just a little bit less, and everything seems like it’s personal. It’s fun to watch so long as you’re removed enough from the situation that you aren’t going to get dragged into it yourself. I just watched a fiftyish black man scream into the intercom of an apartment building for what must have been 10 minutes, I couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, but I was glad I wasn’t involved, cause that dude was angry.
Anyway, I think I had more to that thought, but it seems to have evaporated so I’ll let it go from there. But just before I go, a quick update. What I really really really hoped to get out of this vacation was just some time away, time to think, time to recharge my batteries and put certain things to rest and I hoped that after all was said and done I would have something to say again, something to write, but more than just that, the desire to write it. And I do, or I’m starting to. For the first time in months I want to write again, which is pretty fucking awesome. I don’t know what I’m going to write yet, but I know I have something to say again and the will to write it down and that’s all I’m usually looking for. Thank god, the last piece that has been missing is in place and I feel like me again, all of me.