Day 1- May 20, 2006- leaving New York

I had expected to feel more, which isn't to say that I feel nothing, but I'm not sure it's set in yet- the distance muddled by the three days between here and there.

Backstory
The last time I'd attempted a trip like this was ages ago, though the two are hardly comparable. The boy I went with, his birthday was yesterday and I thought about calling, not because I wanted to talk to him, or had anything to say, but just as proof that I'd remembered, proof that would somehow point out what he'd forgotten, and I'm not sure that either matters all that much. He turned 23. He was 19 when I met him and it's only when I stand back and stack the numbers against each other that I can tell how much time has passed.

We dated for seven months he and I, the relationship coming to a halt the week after we returned from the West coast. The trip wasn't to blame for the breakup, though I'm sure that in the moment I attributed the ten day stretch we'd spent together as a breaking point. The truth was I'd known he was too good for me, had known since a night in San Francisco when, after a show, I went back to the hotel not feeling well and he went out to the diner across the street to bring back dinner and milkshakes that he hoped would make me feel better. I wasn't used to being treated that good and I remember feeling loved and lucky and panicked that I would never be able to live up to whatever it was that make him believe I deserved to be treated that way. [The relationship was doomed.]

Now
There have been countless times with Doug that I've felt that same unconditional love. It doesn't make me panic now- I am older and maybe I know better or maybe I just know enough to take what I can get and sort out what I probably deserve later.

On the LIRR into Penn Station, I had this song playing in my head- a Slick Shoes song, and god, I haven't thought about Slick Shoes in forever. It goes "you say you don't believe in luck and I do agree with you. But sometimes I really have to wonder. I sure feel lucky when I'm next to you." I don't know if I feel lucky, but I'm grateful. I didn't tell him about the song- he would make fun of me for such poppy taste in music. I stop writing because Doug wants me to listen to a song from one of the mixes he brought. "Homeward Bound", Simon & Garfunkel. He expects that this will have resonance in the weeks to come, but it is too slow for now.

Though it's easy to associate music with travel, (especially trains rolling through Middle America) I haven't brought any. I haven't been listening to anything lately unless Doug gives it to me. He loves music and I can't compete, don't want to. I just wait to absorb new songs through osmosis, (or too loud headphones.)

We'll be gone for 24 days- more than twice than last time. It will be the longest I have ever been away from home.

The train is delayed, which means a couple hours in Penn Station limbo. The first leg of our trip is from New York to Chicago, where we'll switch trains to Seattle and take a bus to Vancouver. Our plans confuse the man at baggage check who sees only the first ticket to Chicago. I point out the connections behind it and he nods. I fill out two Amtrak ID tags to put on the suitcase, just in case one falls off. I'm keeping my fingers crossed the bag doesn't get lost- Doug will kill me for making him pack his things with mine.