In a hotel room strangled by three motorways, or in a wasteland of run-down tower blocks, our optimism and sense of purpose are liable to drain away.
I don't know about "a wasteland of run-down tower blocks," but I always feel strangely exhilarated in an anonymous hotel room in the middle of nowhere. It fills me with a sense of infinite possibility, maybe because I know it's just a way station.
Oh, Dear, I hope you'll feel strangely exhilarated in an anonymous loft bunker (sans telephone) in The Beautiful Downtown Middle of Elsewhere, too, then :) . . .
ReplyDeleteActually, I love being in transit; it's the departing (packing) and arriving (unpacking) that I don't love so much; but, yes, I do feel that same kind of freedom and I think it has something to do with no one being able to call or email or otherwise remind one of the obligations of one's regular daily existence (which isn't a drag; but, can be).
Yay diplomatic me!
I find anonymous hotel rooms lonely places...If I am there alone, without my husband or family. One can sense the space's other occupants, the many moods and problems adhering like a spiritual residue on the walls. There's a reason every hotel room has a bible in it; I do not doubt many dark nights of many individual souls have unscrolled in anonymous hotel rooms.
ReplyDeleteBut not mine, Susan.
ReplyDeleteNot mine, neither; must be all those who live for the remote in control, LOL. (I don't even turn on the TV in a hotel room anymore; TMI sets in too easily.)
ReplyDelete