I'm buying tickets here and there, almost frantically, flights and lodging, theater and museum. It is my respite from the ennui of Winter, my rejection of social media - well, Twitter, anyway - the few days this year that I am sober. Old habits die hard.
So at the end of this month is NYC, then Denver to Ess Eff in March, followed (not finally, I trust) a trip from Regensberg to Budapest on the Danube in April. Along the way irritants arise - some carriers will not let us select our seats, hotel rooms overpriced, rental cars in short supply. My life is so hard.
I have no plan to slacken the pace. The best cure for that sense of being trapped and wriggling on the wall ("to spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways," thank you Dr. Eliot) is mania. Run away fast and don't look back, run until it's safe again. Run in circles if you must - measure out your life in Apple watch activities. Whatever works, when the world is closing in and breathing down your neck.
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