on me dit que le temps qui glisse est un salaud - carla bruni

I don't like staying in one place. I get antsy for a change, a break in the routine. I'm sitting here in bed, listening to French music, wondering why I didn't follow in the footsteps of a ton of my college friends and move to Paris or Geneva. And then I remember that I got antsy in Paris, too. While there, I wrote la nouveauté d'un endroit s'en va toujours a few days before I returned to the States. As much as I loved Paris, for me it has always been New York. Because what does New York have if not nouveauté?

Now I'm at the last dredges of the summer slump. Making plans to break plans. Staying at home and doing nothing at all. At least I'll be out of here soon. This time I refuse to relegate my feelings to the territory of emo "need to escape" angst. How weird is it that I think my feelings are marginalized when someone tells me that other people/groups/movements have felt/are feeling exactly the same way? Sometimes I don't want my life to relate exactly to that song or that poem or that book. You are not alone. But sometimes I want to be.