Act 1: Earlier this week I was waiting for the hotel elevator, standing next to a man in a kangol hat and very expensive loafers. We were both staring off into space. After some time I noticed the elevator hadn’t come; neither of us had pushed the button. He turned to me and said, “I’m not waiting for the elevator” and while I considered why anyone would stand directly in front of one if they did not intend to use it, for some reason I just said, “Me neither.”
Act 2: I was given a tarot reading over the holidays (a very good gift idea). When the reader was outlining the season ahead, she threw out a specific date: On February 7 there would be a moment of celestial shift. A reawakening of clarity. A new lease on life. Or was it February 8. Somehow despite this feeling monumental in the moment I have forgotten both the date and what is allegedly meant to unfold.
The last month has felt a bit like…a trance. Deeply in my own head, sometimes solipsistically thrilling, sometimes hazy and d…
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