Every day I awake incredulous I'm still in my parents' guest room. I know it's summer by the oppressive, humid heat and the scattered electrical storms. I can tell by the tanned women who work in the hospital that the beach is near. Flags and red white and blue streamers indicate a national holiday is approaching. I'm walking through life, getting through each hour. Although I'm much more alive than my father, I don't feel like I'm living. Manhattan, two hours away, where so many of my friends live, is inaccessible. I'm at the epicenter of so much drama, yet I feel disconnected. Some feed off of this type of excitement, I prefer the simple things like un-airconditioned air, produce from my farmers market, morning stillness, a yoga class. And yet this is where I want to be, so I tolerate the less than desirable things and savor the good moments.
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