Dear Moony,
Kydee and I have been trying to decide what to do for Labor Day weekend, what with living together and both being two weeks post-ejection, we wanted to do something crazy and fun. A friend of Kydee’s, hereby referred to as Doctor, was visiting for dinner. The Doctor had a wonderful suggestion: why don’t we go to California?
“It’s a hundred bucks in gas and I have an aunt we can stay with. Let’s go to the beach.”
And the crazy thing is, Moony, we decided to follow through. As I type this on Kydee’s miniscule net book, I am sitting on a worn pull-out sofa mattress which belongs to Doctor’s aunt. A little more than 24 hours after the idea was even conceived, I am in California.
Moony, we had an extended conversation once about run bags, or bug out bags, or whatever you call them. That single bag, easy to carry, loaded with all the essentials you need to leave. I have a secret about run bags. Since fourth grade, the first time my mother . . . “invited me” to go live with my father, I’ve kept a run bag in the back of the closet, in case such a situation ever actually came to pass. Eight years later, what do you know? A week ago I moved all of my possessions, furniture included, in less than 12 hours work with help from some friends. In the process of packing, I became fully acquainted with just about every item I own. After today, grabbing my run bag and leaving on a whim, I know most of the stuff I have boxed up isn’t necessary. I fantasize about selling it all and buying a motorcycle or something like that. Maybe next semester.
It really is too easy to dismantle one’s space. Or to just bug out of town. It might be something I try to do more often. Please come visit and adventure with me.
Best wishes and love,
Sonya
One day, Sonya dear, we're going to take an epic roadtrip together filled with not-quite-respectable adventures. James and Peter will accompany us, as they are, after all, the "three stooges in one body," and will provide ample entertainment and fuel for Moony-scorn. I miss you terribly. Still reading too much Dostoevsky. Still missing your cooking. Still itching for at least one of the four tattoos I'm planning. Given the current circumstances, the two simple but oh-so-powerful words, "Lady Lazarus" sound good. I think it applies to both of us, in a way, dear. Thinking of you a lot, sending lots of love your way. Let me know wherever your wanderings take you, and I will send you many strange, mostly wonderful, sometimes mortifying gifts. <3
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