I Have to Get It Out Somewhere

I miss it.

I miss the long train ride, gazing out the window for stretches at a time, watching the landscape change slowly from the familiar to the not so familiar, to the foreign.

I miss my annual walk down the length of the train, the knowing nods, the recognition and admiration of tribal paraphernalia, and the flashing green light of someone I haven’t digitally met yet.

I miss the arrival as it transitions from the foreign to the not so familiar to arriving at a place and time that I find unerringly familiar—a place that I would consider a second spiritual home.

I am awash in memories, of good times, of late nights. Memories of glorious die rolls that killed a party, and rowdy drinking that ended up with me actually falling into the street and wondering if that was what it was like to live in Boston.

I miss friends, all of them.

The Friends seen once a year, bartenders that remember you year after year.

The Strangers become Friends met only once in line to purchase something, or browsing the same booth in the expo hall because you both love this one weird thing that no one else has heard about yet.

And most of all The Friends I hang out with often—but in a 96 hour setting that unites us physically and celebrates several of the mutual hobbies that make us friends.

So yeah. There it is. I feel better getting it out. I’ve placed these feelings into a verbal box, and now I’m going to put it away on the internet.

To those attending, I wish you a safe and happy return.

As for me, I’ll be focusing on the silver lining, which lies in the financial benefit of not attending—which I am totally not negating via several rigorous sessions of online retail therapy.