At least once every day, I make a gesture that has become habit over the last five years. I rub the middle finger and the little finger on my right hand against my ring finger. I used to do this as a way of reassuring myself that my ring was on my finger. On several occasions I fidgeted with it so much that I dropped it, especially on a cold day. Sometimes I felt a dart of panic when I forgot to put it on in the morning and always felt relieved when I put it back on.
Now, the dart of panic invariably happens every time, and then the dull thud of realisation hits. I try and stop myself but it's automatic now and has become one of those things that you know hurts but you do anyway, like wobbling a loose tooth or picking at a scab. I've toyed, when the ache has become too intense, with wearing the ring again. Just so that I can get its reassuring presence back on my finger. But even if I did, I know that my mind would be worrying over it still. That it would mean the wrong thing, that I was trying to reclaim something that isn't really real any more or creating false expectations. But mainly, and most significantly, that putting it back on would make it harder to remove again. That when I took it off for the final time, I would be ripping a new wound and that the feeling I've been carrying around for months - the perpetual feeling of breathlessness and disbelief, like being punched in the stomach - would be worse than before.
I am so tired of it. So very tired of all of it.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Boston
So, Boston. That feels like a long time ago. It was lovely, although I didn't feel as absorbed by it as New York. The shape of Manhattan means that it is a very concentrated city, Boston is a lot less contained and there are several huge roads that run through it, meaning that it's less suitable for pedestrians. It's also quieter than New York, unsurprisingly, so I didn't feel that comfortable going out in the evenings, which is a wussy thing to do but you can't underestimate the mind-blowing dullness of going out in the evenings when there's just you after two weeks. I must admit, in Sturbridge and Boston, I got some good telly-watching done. However, during the day, I was all-action Kitten again! My first day there I checked into my hotel which I enjoyed as it was gorgeous and extremely luxurious compared to the previous two. My New York hotel was very functional and the Sturbridge hotel was kind of Butlins-dreary. The Boston hotel even had brand name toiletries. Is it bad that it's stuff like that that impresses me? I spent some time looking up stuff to do in Boston, which I had refrained from doing before as it seemed a bit sad to think too much about the end of my holiday before I'd got there. I underlined some things, some of which I did and some of which I decided not to, like a piano bar that sounded fun, it involved singing, but didn't open until after I'd lost the will to stay out!
On that first day, I went to see a production of Man of La Mancha, mentioned in the previous post, taking some time to wander about in Boston and soak up some atmosphere, find the theatre and have a meal before the show started. It was alright but it is one of my favourites for sentimental reasons and I didn't feel that they did it justice. Mainly because the company, priding itself on using local talent, felt hugely amateurish despite charging professional prices. Some of the voices were good but I felt frustrated at the inability of the actors to just sing the bloody songs. I noted in my book that I felt I was about to giggle during The Impossible Dream because I suddenly realised what the lead actor's delivery reminded me of. If you've ever heard William Shatner "sing"Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds, you'll know why I found it difficult to be moved. Such a pity.
The next day, I set out on the Freedom Trail, which is a red line throughout Boston that leads you through the various historical buildings, monuments and areas of significance. I kind of did it wrong as, despite it being a mere 2 1/2 miles only managed to get through 1/2 mile of it. I really like museums and graveyards and things so stopped at all of them along the way with my guidebook and tried to take everything in. It took me several hours, I think it was about six, and I was a wee bit shattered by the end. So shattered that I decided not to visit the replica of the boat from where the tea was thrown off, despite the very exciting fact that it happened on my birthday, although not one that I was actually alive for what with it being 1773 (a mere two years before the birth of Miss Jane Austen, fact-lovers!) I found a notable Irish Pub around the corner from the replica Cheers Pub (a lot of replicas in Boston) and sat and gawped at the sight of football on the TV. Shouldn't have been so excited, I'm not exactly a fan, but it was nice to see something homely. I succeeded in spilling gravy on my only pair of jeans but it didn't stain, unlike the hot chocolate from earlier in the day. At least my natural messiness didn't reveal itself until Boston, when I was within sight of a home and a decent washing machine.
I popped into Quincy Market for a Boston Cream Pie to take back to the hotel and made my weary way home. Watched a silly film and didn't enjoy the pie particularly so dipped once again into my stash of Sturbridge fudge, significantly reducing the amount that I could take home as a gift.
I decided to go a little further up the Freedom Trail the next day and into the Italian part of the city to Paul Revere's house. I thought that'd be an interesting point at which to end my particular stroll down the red line. The best bit was the mini-lecture where they debunked the whole thing about "The British Are Coming" as a) it was a secret mission so he probably wouldn't have shouted and b) the colonists at that point still called themselves British so would have been all, like, "yeah, we know, we're right here." I then walked back to where I'd been the night before, did me some shopping and went on a whale watch. This was awesome and was pretty much the only time when I was snap-happy, desperately trying to get a decent shot of a humpbacked whale. There's a feeding ground 25 miles out of Boston Harbour so it was a fun boat ride and then a wonderful hour and a half watching whales which was splendid. Everyone reacted like little kids, lots of oohs and excited pointing at the whales and I felt very much a part of things, which was nice.
I was happy but tired when I got back to the hotel and went wandering out, proudly wearing my newly-bought woolly boots which I have been wearing to death since I've been back. I tried to get a table at a restaurant but it was quite late, there were queues and, unfortunately, they don't prioritise people on their own. We make less revenue, dontchaknow. In a move that will probably cast shame on me, I ended up getting a slice of pizza and TWO slices of the best cheesecake the world has ever known from the best place to buy cheesecake the world has ever known and took it back to the hotel. Well, I had to enjoy the lovely hotel as much as I could and, oh, it was good. Seriously, if you are in Boston and don't go the The Cheesecake Factory, I will want to know why. Even walking in is an experience, it's completely gorgeous.
I spent my final evening watching Moonlight, which was rubbish, with Sophia Myles who I will freely admit is very nice to look at but who is also a really awful actress. She appears to have had a charisma bypass. But she did bring the count up of Brits taking over US TV, which was something I enjoyed making note of while over there. I did like Boston but I was starting to crave company by the end so very, very glad to come home. Now I just wish that everything was much nearer so I could go over there on daytrips. There were things that were odd and things that were difficult (some out of choice, including my weird decision to get to the airport by subway. I enjoyed it, partly because it was difficult but mainly because it was my choice and being able to make my own choices without having to take somebody else into account is something that is still shiny and new) but on the whole there were many points of blistering happiness that give me strength and contentment when I think back on them. In the words of the song, memorably sung by Jack Edwards and the (3)3 J Girls at The News Guide Awards on Monday night, I Did It My Way.
On that first day, I went to see a production of Man of La Mancha, mentioned in the previous post, taking some time to wander about in Boston and soak up some atmosphere, find the theatre and have a meal before the show started. It was alright but it is one of my favourites for sentimental reasons and I didn't feel that they did it justice. Mainly because the company, priding itself on using local talent, felt hugely amateurish despite charging professional prices. Some of the voices were good but I felt frustrated at the inability of the actors to just sing the bloody songs. I noted in my book that I felt I was about to giggle during The Impossible Dream because I suddenly realised what the lead actor's delivery reminded me of. If you've ever heard William Shatner "sing"Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds, you'll know why I found it difficult to be moved. Such a pity.
The next day, I set out on the Freedom Trail, which is a red line throughout Boston that leads you through the various historical buildings, monuments and areas of significance. I kind of did it wrong as, despite it being a mere 2 1/2 miles only managed to get through 1/2 mile of it. I really like museums and graveyards and things so stopped at all of them along the way with my guidebook and tried to take everything in. It took me several hours, I think it was about six, and I was a wee bit shattered by the end. So shattered that I decided not to visit the replica of the boat from where the tea was thrown off, despite the very exciting fact that it happened on my birthday, although not one that I was actually alive for what with it being 1773 (a mere two years before the birth of Miss Jane Austen, fact-lovers!) I found a notable Irish Pub around the corner from the replica Cheers Pub (a lot of replicas in Boston) and sat and gawped at the sight of football on the TV. Shouldn't have been so excited, I'm not exactly a fan, but it was nice to see something homely. I succeeded in spilling gravy on my only pair of jeans but it didn't stain, unlike the hot chocolate from earlier in the day. At least my natural messiness didn't reveal itself until Boston, when I was within sight of a home and a decent washing machine.
I popped into Quincy Market for a Boston Cream Pie to take back to the hotel and made my weary way home. Watched a silly film and didn't enjoy the pie particularly so dipped once again into my stash of Sturbridge fudge, significantly reducing the amount that I could take home as a gift.
I decided to go a little further up the Freedom Trail the next day and into the Italian part of the city to Paul Revere's house. I thought that'd be an interesting point at which to end my particular stroll down the red line. The best bit was the mini-lecture where they debunked the whole thing about "The British Are Coming" as a) it was a secret mission so he probably wouldn't have shouted and b) the colonists at that point still called themselves British so would have been all, like, "yeah, we know, we're right here." I then walked back to where I'd been the night before, did me some shopping and went on a whale watch. This was awesome and was pretty much the only time when I was snap-happy, desperately trying to get a decent shot of a humpbacked whale. There's a feeding ground 25 miles out of Boston Harbour so it was a fun boat ride and then a wonderful hour and a half watching whales which was splendid. Everyone reacted like little kids, lots of oohs and excited pointing at the whales and I felt very much a part of things, which was nice.
I was happy but tired when I got back to the hotel and went wandering out, proudly wearing my newly-bought woolly boots which I have been wearing to death since I've been back. I tried to get a table at a restaurant but it was quite late, there were queues and, unfortunately, they don't prioritise people on their own. We make less revenue, dontchaknow. In a move that will probably cast shame on me, I ended up getting a slice of pizza and TWO slices of the best cheesecake the world has ever known from the best place to buy cheesecake the world has ever known and took it back to the hotel. Well, I had to enjoy the lovely hotel as much as I could and, oh, it was good. Seriously, if you are in Boston and don't go the The Cheesecake Factory, I will want to know why. Even walking in is an experience, it's completely gorgeous.
I spent my final evening watching Moonlight, which was rubbish, with Sophia Myles who I will freely admit is very nice to look at but who is also a really awful actress. She appears to have had a charisma bypass. But she did bring the count up of Brits taking over US TV, which was something I enjoyed making note of while over there. I did like Boston but I was starting to crave company by the end so very, very glad to come home. Now I just wish that everything was much nearer so I could go over there on daytrips. There were things that were odd and things that were difficult (some out of choice, including my weird decision to get to the airport by subway. I enjoyed it, partly because it was difficult but mainly because it was my choice and being able to make my own choices without having to take somebody else into account is something that is still shiny and new) but on the whole there were many points of blistering happiness that give me strength and contentment when I think back on them. In the words of the song, memorably sung by Jack Edwards and the (3)3 J Girls at The News Guide Awards on Monday night, I Did It My Way.
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