- Welcome to Atlanta where the players play.
Yeah, except not so much. Here is the thing: at the moment, I am overcome with temptation to write the sentence- I loathe Atlanta. That, of course, would be ridiculous, seeing as how I have been here for less than 24 hours. Furthermore, B & I went to the ATL with another coworker for a long weekend some years back and did not break out into hives. Though our coworker G had some meltdowns- in the CNN cafe, G burst into tears, prompting an exchanged glance between B & me that cemented our friendship forever- for the most part, we found the city worthy of recommendation.
Maybe it is the sweltering humidity. Maybe it is the fact that this is the first, brief respite I have had from my very needy coworkers. But maybe, more likely, most probably, I am homesick. Absurd, but true. Not two days after returning to San Francisco, I rearranged my suitcase and shipped out again. I do not know how some people do it. Sure, there are accomodations, heavenly beds. But honestly, nothing could be more heavenly than being back home, in my netherworld of a crack shack.
There is curious contrast at work. My previous trip to Atlanta was prompted by the exact opposite sentiment about home. When living in New Jersey, I felt so uneasy and restless that I was available at any moment's notice to leave the state. So, any excuse or opportunity to take off for the weekend was seized. And I went with no expectations, because I blindly accepted that wherever I was going was better than my point of departure. Conversely, now, no place measures up.
But the ATL and I shall have to make amends, or I shall have a rough five days to be sure. If it lowers its humidity by 10%, I will lower my expectations by 20%. Deal?
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