itchy foot nomad

IMG_5337When humans hurt me, I move. And the worse the hurt… the further the distance. My initial 2002 departure to Australia was sprung by a dapper physicist with glassy green eyes who ran my heart through a meat grinder.

He’s married with two children, I still get the occasional email.

The next time my heart was shredded into an unidentifiable pile of slimy red flaps was by my first husband. And the day I decided to leave, really leave, was the day I started this blog. I promised myself I would get as far away from his as I could – and after a few years of finessingIMG_5321, I certainly did.

I’m not sure if it’s the rocky road to get here – or the idea that some people have just been dicks to me lately – but my nomad feet are somewhat itchy.

I don’t necessarily feel as shattered as I did at the hand of the above-mentioned lovers, who I literally fled to the opposite side of the planet to get away from. So I don’t think Australia is in the cards as of yet.

And don’t get me wrong… New York City all day. I’m not ready to shift off just yet. I guess in some ways impulsivity seems to find a way to win in the end. Therefore I’m just going to let my daydreams do the work for awhile and then see where I end up.

But Colorado… there are certainly whispers of Colorado tickling my ears lately.

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