I returned from Amsterdam yesterday and slipped back into the comfort of my bed. It felt so good to come home, and just as good to have gone away, to be sleepless, to dance until the morning sun came up, and to wander through the city in search of good times. And then, finally, to return with heavy bags in my hands and a pillow tucked under my arm. (Sh****t.This pen is not penning, need another one.)
It is around ten in the morning. My fluffy little dog is sleeping by my side, and I am thinking. Life is good. It has been only five days since I stepped away from my endless worries, my usual way of thinking, and yet I feel completely anew, as if something in me has shifted. I have experienced joy again.
A friends’ reunion, Amsterdam edition: me, S, L, P, and M. Christmas lights. Chinatown. We bar-hopped, dropping and losing our coats under bar counters, drifting, dancing and dancing for hours, before taking the ferry across the water to the other side, where another party was already in full swing, where we kissed, smoked California Dream, and went to the movies.