Waking up in the middle of a forest.

I woke up too early, went back to bed. It’s too hot, too cold, I take off the blanket, put it back on, feeling a little giddy, a little jumpy, can’t wait for the adventure, one more hour. Sleep.

It had been about three weeks since I started feeling the usual unsettled feeling of living in a place for too long. I felt the bars closing in. I felt myself becoming too comfortable, doing the same routine, thinking the same thoughts, walking in the same direction. What set this unsettled thought apart from all my previous melancholic afternoons was that I realized that I didn’t want to escape- not this time. I hadn’t grown tired of the city. I hadn’t felt frustrated. It was me. I became terrified that I might have forgotten what it’s like to not be rushed, not be in a frenzy, not have a deadline, not have to properly groom myself, not take a shower, not not have a thing to do. I feared relaxation. I feared nothingness. I feared veering of the path.

This is when I decided that in a weird ironic sort of way, I would schedule in a day to get lost.

Second wake, too late, rush down the ladder, to the restroom, take a shower, brush my teeth, pick an outfit, two, no - how about four outfits, don’t know what to wear, slip a dress on, wake up Israel. Wake up, wake up, why won’t you wake up? We’re running late. Finally after a quick, orgasm-filled morning, we’re up, showered, ready to go.