it's done me good to have a week out of this city, to be reminded of what it means to be 8 years old and to long for your home, to run for the sake of running, to remember a time when catching grasshoppers in tight fists was the only thing that mattered.

my childhood is something that seems simultaneously very close and very far away. i wonder when it was exactly that i started to forget things i thought i would remember forever, like the words to the cheers we sang at camp, the name of the horse that i rode, the words to stella ella ola tap tap tap...

remembering and forgetting are tricky things. he came with me to hungary this weekend and i couldn't help but remember other trips with another boy, remembering and forgetting, remembering and forgetting. it's a complicated process and probably most scary because i tend to think i can control it until i get stuck on other weekend trips, little fantasies i made up when i was 17 and whether they have been forsaken or fulfilled, the real name of the book i've always called the lupine lady.