Written in my write group, to the prompt "it's not about you". Although based on a number of facts, this is fiction. I have no desire to move to Rome.
It’s not about you, it’s about the weather. No, let me finish, it is. It will make sense when you think about it. See, I’m not made for the heat. Nor the cold. Things have to be just right. So-so. 74 degrees, perfect. 68? Too cold. 80? Too hot. And lately, well, this endless summer has just been annoying the hell out of me, and it got me thinking: maybe I need different weather. Perhaps, different weather would suit me better …. More stable weather. I like balance, you know that. So, I started looking up places where there are no seasons. Just fairly stable weather all year around. I know, I know… you’ll say, “there’s no such place!” – but you’d be surprised to find out some places in the Mediterranean answer my very need.
This is not an argument, really. All I’m trying to say is that it’s not about you. It’s about this administration, too. Don’t even get me started on that one… I told you things were going to go to hell. I prayed for an impeachment but I’m not sure if it is even pending. And I know you’re catching a breath to tell me about Mueller, but seriously: what is going to happen if he gets fired? Am I really going to sit around and wait for that? I’d make a horrible handmaid, you know that. Plus, red is not my color.
Of course, I’m scratching Spain of my list! Spain is not an option right now, either, with that Catalonian crisis going on. Italy, maybe? Or Turkey?
Like I said, though, it’s not about you. It’s about that attack last week. That really got under my skin. And we’ve gone over that a lot, how this city is so vulnerable… remember that panic attack I had on the subway a couple of weeks after the attack on Brussels airport? And all those tears I cried over the Bataclan raid and how worried I was about my friend who works in a hotel near the site? I think a city in general just isn’t the best place to be in right now. It’s too hot in New York in summer anyway, with the smell of urine oozing from every nook… See, I told you it was about the weather.
Just, as long as you understand it’s not about you. At all. It’s about Marissa, if about anything. She never was a person I’d list as an emergency contact, but lately, I don’t know… I just can’t stand to be around her – and to sit opposite of someone you quite detest for eight hours… that’s horrible. I think to myself: who would do this to themselves? Like… seriously, life can be over in a heartbeat! What if I had been biking at the West End highway that afternoon? I would have died knowing that I’d been working for eight hours a day, five days a week, with a woman I can’t stand – detest, even - while I could have just packed my bags and move to – I don’t know… Rome? I could live happily in stable weather with no political crisis flooding the newspapers. Plus, I would have pizza and gelato every day! And no Marissa.
See, this is not about you. Not even a little bit.