Postcard

I am not on vacation. But I will be soon. I will be in NY. And I will visit my parents and see Jo. Yesterday I went to see this movie. Aside from a few lulls, it was quite charming. And sort of painfully relatable in a way. I love movie lots and later I walked around the Fox lot, which I've always liked. Then I met E for drinks and we spoke of writing and sabbaticals and the state of news and Southeast Asia and ambivalence and expectations and work and love. And he said, "Writers need to have things gnawing on their edges at all times." And I think this is true. We prolong the gnaw maybe. And according to the Happiness study, perhaps we are immature, for fantasizing, for inhabiting worlds that don't really exist. But at least we have a sense of humor about it. I woke up several times in the middle of the night almost irrationally angry at the movie. It had opened up old wounds that I thought were sealed and closed. And there was nothing left to say about this, no one left to speak to. Night is too quiet sometimes. I need an ambient sound machine. I need rain.