The Q

Got back from NM a few hours ago. Lovely trip for the most part. It actually felt like a vacation, which is probably because it wasn't tied into a conference of some sort. I walked for hours, visited galleries, took photos of anything that spoke to my heart, and ate green chiles with every meal. And I re-read Nabokov novels all week whilst drinking mass quantities of coffee and watching the sun either rise or set on my balcony or at some little patio cafe.

I also had the epiphany that I absolutely love being in a hotel and in an unfamiliar city alone.

The only downside was my little jaunt to Santa Fe, a city (I've learned) that I find offensive in its pretentiousness and overabundance of linen and straw hats. It is rugged and beautiful, but unlike Georgia O'Keefe, it is not "my city." That led me to realize that I'm not sure I've found my city yet. It might actually be in Chicago. I certainly did find myself while living there. Just not sure if it's home forever, though. Home forever, I think, would need to have mountains.

Ok, I'm exhausted. Going to indulge myself with a bubble bath and a pinot noir. There were a few humorous little anecdotes to share, but I'll write more tomorrow.

Side note: G, November can't come soon enough. craving Kimday and beaujolais nouveau.