Home on the Strange

I got back from New York about 1am yesterday morning. Resuming my routine of job hunting, I'm sitting here asking myself, "Did I really just spend a week in New York"? I am tempted to wave off the possibility except for the fact that I have incredibly distinct day by day accounts, 190 photos, and a shit ton of memories that have nothing to do with location at all. It's a funny thing about traveling. When I go places, I rarely retain details of individual stops. They provide a new backdrop, and maybe that fact is what helps the conversations and actions taking place there seem more prominent. For now, everything is so fresh in my head. I am thinking back on the smaller details of what went down, and as much fun as I ended up having, not everything was smooth. And that's okay. Life doesn't take vacations just because pretty boy Josh does. Awkward moments and nervous laughs serve to even out the dreamy surreality.