Hello, this is Boston's Heinous Weather -- Boston, MA

I'm starting this post from the tiny kitchen of The Loft (Boy and I have names for everything -- including our apartment). Our old roommate painted the metal and plywood table white, with a weird design in the center. And the rest of us roommates have decided to embrace the weird design by constantly chipping away at the white paint. I see a star, a skull, the silhouette of a face and a few nightmarish monsters. 

We make art. 

Other things on the table include a bottle of Umcka, cold + flu, a half empty box of tissue, a few cough drop wrappers and a mug of steaming chamomile tea. 

Oof. Boston and it's hostile weather. See what you've done to me? 

I started feeling ill in Denver airport. A little headachy, a wee bit fatigued. 

That's normal. I nearly always get stress headaches in airports. 

By Monday morning, I'd developed a painful cough. By Tuesday, my nose had begun to run. By Wednesday, my face felt like someone was cutting extremely juicy onions inside of it. I led the GSA group for the House, a Safe Place for Western Slope Teens sandwiched between a bag of cough drops and a box of tissue. And for some reason, the rambunctious teens were quieter than usual -- as if they knew how nearly dead I was feeling, and thought that one wrong word would cause me to keel over. 

Maybe I should always pretend to be sick for GSA...

Today is Thursday. And Thursday, I took a sick day. Which is why I'm able to write a blog at 3:30 in the afternoon. I even went to the doctor, but all I got was a prescription for amoxicillin and a recommendation to stand over a pot of boiling water with a towel over my head to create a tent for the steam. And then stay there for ten minutes. 

Which sounds like some ancient form of torture. 

I left my host's triple decker apartment Friday morning at seven, and disembarked the metro (which Bostonians call, "the T")at Park Street Station. Because it's familiar, and when I'm traveling alone in a big city, I like to start with the familiar. Where I know that if I get too cold, I can easily escape into a cafe and warm my fingers on a mug of steaming coffee. 

Which I promptly did. 

After it had somewhat warmed up (the high was 30 degrees, so "warm" is a very generous term indeed), I reluctantly left the cafe, tucking my chin into my thin scarf and wandering out into the cold. 

This cold... feels like it's moved in. Like, rented out my chest. "Hello, this is Boston's heinous weather. I've had the full tour of your lungs, and well -- I'll take 'em! Great pair. I'd like to move in immediately, if you please." 

I spent the next two hours slowly ambling through parks, trying to keep my gloveless fingers warm in the shallow pockets of my sweater. 

Throughout the entire walk, I couldn't stop thinking, Gosh... this would be SO great in non-pneumonia inducing weather...

Bostonians are hardcore. So hardcore, that I have a strong suspicion that these runners are not human at all. They are either robots, or have undergone surgery wherein their lungs were exchanged for those of an emperor penguin. 

After walking alongside the Charles River for what felt like a thousand Game of Thrones winters, I crossed a bridge, found another coffee shop, and warmed my innards with a hot bowl of very healthy carrot, ginger soup. Into which I promptly plopped an outrageous helping of Trader Joe's triple cream brie and charcuterie I'd been carting around in an empty yogurt container. 

Classy. 

"CAUTION, UNSTABLE TABLE." 

Yelled a note written by hand and taped to the table at which I sat with my carrot, ginger soup and my laptop side by side. 

Classy. 

"Nice pants," said the young man sitting at the enviably more stable table to the right of me. 

"Thanks, got 'em in Mexico." 

"Yeah, I thought so." 

"San Cristobal." 

"Yeah, my mom sells clothes in Mexico." 

"Really? Well, they're awesome. Always a conversation starter, that's for sure. I once had one of those Santa Clauses who ring bells outside of stores stop ringing his bell to shout after me, "NICE PANTS! Where'd you get them?" So. Even Santa wants my pants." 

We talked for a few more minutes, and I asked what they'd recommend I do with the rest of my frigid afternoon in Boston. They said that since it was cold, I might think about visiting Boston's public library. So I lingered with my empty carrot, ginger soup bowl until I felt ridiculous, then walked to the nearest T station and boarded the train heading for the library. 

The square across the street from the library 

The courtyard of the library. 

The library closed at five, and I was kicked out onto the snowy streets as the sun was setting and the temperature was dropping. My couchsurfing host texted me to let me know the whens and wheres about the restaurant we were meeting at that evening, and I began to slowly walk in the general direction.

The rest of the evening (other than the brisk trip back to my host's apartment) was just fabulous. Cocktails and appetizers with my host and a friend of hers. Then a fire and wine and puppies at her coworkers house. Wherein we talked about travel, politics and how how corrupt and evil the administration of Harvard's library is.

I never thought I'd heard the word "evil" connected to a library. 

But regardless of how wonderful Friday night was, the whole of Saturday was my favorite.

Saturday.

Was just the best.

An old friend from my college days who had moved to New Bedford for grad school came to visit me.

Robert.

I like you. :) 

Robert picked me up from my host's apartment in Savin Hill at about 8:30. I soberly complimented him on his long, luxurious locks and then probably said something silly, like "I'm so happy you're here..."

We went to coffee and then spent a couple of hours wandering around Boston's aquarium, wading through half of Boston's extremely energetic under three-foot tall residents.

"This is the problem with coming on a Saturday," Robert commented as we valiantly forged ahead, fighting for our rights to gaze upon enigmatic cuttlefish just like the rest of the munchkins.

After the aquarium, we met up with my couchsurfing host at a bar for a few of New England's hard ciders. Robert's friend, Suvinda, also drove over from New Bedford to share the afternoon. And I nearly immediately invited myself to join in on her and Robert's adventure in India next year.

Girl... you've got about zero shame when it comes to asking people if you can tag along... 

But, Suvinda's extraordinarily welcoming and told me I should definitely join her and Robert in India next year.

Which I will.

After a few minutes of debating whether we should go out to dinner or just buy ingredients and cook at my host's home, we decided on the latter. So we scurried over to the nearest Trader Joe's, bought the groceries we needed for salad and a spaghetti squash pasta meal, and then Robert drove us all back to Savin Hill. Where we chatted and cooked and feasted for the rest of the night.

My journey home commenced at 5:45 am on Sunday morning. And about twelve hours of travel later, I arrived in Grand Junction.

It's been tough to settle back into the routine of working 40-50 hour weeks, taking a college class, attending massage school and writing a book. There's no room for spontaneity in a schedule that crammed. There's no room to feel free and open to life being life. People being late, me falling behind, drivers going five below the speed limit all feels like the end of the world because of the tension of GO! GO! GO! I feel exhausted and stressed nearly all my waking hours.

How much longer can I do this? God... I want to be on the road yesterday. With nothing to do but write, take photos, and do whatever work exchange I've found myself in. This life? Is so stressful I can't stop getting sick. 

For my photojournalism class on Tuesday, I was given the assignment to take a stock photo for Kleenex. This is what I came up with.

Boy was an excellent model. And gives a very accurate performance to what I've been feeling all week.

Boston... like, no offense... you seem really awesome... with all your parks and excellent cafes and freaking phenomenal seafood and European architecture... but move your heinous weather out of my chest. Please and thank-you.