I think I'll go to Boston, I think I'll start a new life, I think I'll start it over, where no one knows my name. I think -

"A problem, V." Beth looks over at me from her cross-legged spot on my floor, where she perched when I told her I had to play a song for her (for the sake of accurracy, it should be noted that the request came out something like, "Sookay you reeeeeally have to hear this song already because it's soooooo good, okay, I won't spoil it for you, come here!"). I was stretched on top of my bed, mouthing along to the lyrics.

"'Where no one knows my name' wouldn't exactly work out for you in Boston."

Hmm. My last venture to the city came back to me and I chuckled. Duly noted. "But, um, still. It's a cool song, don't you think..."

We nodded our heads as the piano melody resumed its trickle through the soundsystem speakers.

***

Date, location, time. No words of invitation necessary for either party in the conversation.

I love this sense of informality. We both know I'll do what I can to be there; we also know that if I don't, there will be a next time soon. Because I'm always making my way back into town, I'm as regular a fixture as one can be, considering where I call home. This isn't technically my town, but that's mere technicality. Formality, if you will.

I'm relieved that we see no reason for formalities.

***

The strange sort of dynamic between Boston and myself reared its head yesterday evening. I was figuring out who I should call, with whom I should try to spend some time, what I'd like to do, what I haven't seen or done in awhile.

It proved to be a longer list than I would have realized. Family, friends, restaurants, shops, shows (the question: one or two?), activities. A trip to the gym? Time for the lattes and writing planned for Tthe Mary/Rhoda Summit? Bowling? Brunch with mimosas?

I'm only going to wind up doing half of what I'd like to do. The rest will go back into the shuffle for next time. As is usually the case.

Oh, Boston - you and yours. I never have enough time with you. You're not where I am, but you're filled with pieces of what I am. I'm always trying to touch base, check in, laugh with and otherwise connect with those pieces that go through their daily routines about two hundred miles away from me.

You haven't been a particularly restful destination for awhile now. Instead, you're a sort of second, suspended reality. And one I've wound up neglecting these past several months.

I'm definitely feeling the crunch to catch back up. Fortunately, you know I always wind up getting bored when I'm trying to relax, so I know I'm going to have a good time.