Leaving

Having a hard time leaving again. I woke up too early, just now. I woke up because I had received an important email in my dream. In the real world I grappled for my phone but nothing interesting was there besides a silverfish on the windowsill, which I squished with a CVS receipt.

I'm having a hard time even believing I am leaving tomorrow morning. My flight is at 6:22, so I suppose I should leave here at 4 AM. It will feel like a dream too. It's only six weeks back on the ship and then three more weeks in Maine--infinitely easier to live, to navigate, to talk to people. I wasn't even ready to end my contract last month. More to write, more to love about my castmates, maybe even a few more nights in the dark belly of the boat. But it's still hard now.

Tuesday morning Puhg and I meant to find some unique exercise because I am tired of Jillian Michaels and my gym membership is frozen. We found a basketball court nearby! By there was also a park. And the park had mini golf! And suddenly we're playing mini-golf in the middle of the week together and eating yogurt and watching The Affair and ticket stubs and photos and stickers are all over the living room. When I describe my days they are so wonderfully blob-glamourous.

Like yesterday I listened to This American Life on a walk to Lake Michigan. I read. I laid on the couch and ate cookies leftover from a board game night. I met a friend for lemonade and gossip. I got a mani/pedi. I worked on a creative project at SC. The first planning meeting of a show I am writing this fall with my director. At home, Puhg and I watch the new OJ documentary (so much OJ, 2016) and drink root beer floats. I scrapbook on the ground. We watch Scream, make some jokes, fall asleep fast. While watching the scary TV show I say it feels truly like summer and I'm a kid. I'm living a dream--or maybe five dreams on top of each other--and I am beyond fortunate, so I barely have a right to mourn anything ever, but today it's just feeling hard to leave.