For the first time since Hurricane Sandy, I left Manhattan island yesterday to visit Ryan and his fiancee in Astoria, Queens. The cabbie told me an awful tale of waiting seven hours in line the previous night to get gas and the gas running out before he got any. I felt bad for making him drive all the way to Queens. But I had been standing there for 20 minutes and this was the first cab I could find, and I had to get out. I didn't know what to do with myself anymore. I was overwhelmed by an inexplicable fatigue and it was all I could do to drag myself out. I needed to talk someone, see someone, anyone.
In Queens, it was as if nothing had occurred at all. We walked to a local restaurant and had dinner. I told my tale of the past week for the first time and I realized that telling the story was somehow cathartic. As I told it though, I found I couldn't keep the days straight. The whole ordeal has felt like one very, very long day. I can't believe it's been a week. All sense of time has been lost. I hope that by writing this down, I can at once expunge this restless feeling, process this, and remember it later all at once.
