My mum would tell you that I have never been good with directions, and at one point in time I would have argued with that statement. I know! Me arguing? Never! Yet now, I would completely agree with her and fully blame my directional incompetence on the heat. I yearn for the letters of M, K, and U Streets, the numerics of 18th, 16th, and 6th streets, and the familiarity of Columbia, Park, and Pennsylvania. Instead, I'm becoming frenemies with Chestnut, Oak, Valance, Magazine, Napoleon, and Carrollton.
I am having a terrible time figuring out how to navigate New Orleans. And of course I don't want to be "that" driver, the out of state fool with the Seahawks sticker and embarrassing license plate, so I just drive. Having no idea if I turned in the correct direction onto St. Charles. Once I realize that indeed I am going the wrong way, I make a left turn (which involves crossing the streetcar median) and retrace my steps hoping that no one notices my blue Jetta driving down the street. Again.
Maybe my city befuddlement demonstrates how I'm feeling at the moment. I lack a routine, a sense of stability, and feel completely out of my element. I'm nostalgic for the days of walking into a bar where everyone knows my name (literally), the nights of Diner dinners, and afternoons of Bar Pilar bloodys n' brunch. Hell, I even miss the customer who called our Montepulciano "spritzy" every single time he ordered it. Okay, maybe I don't miss him.
In time I'll figure out the streets, the bars, and add to my awesome group of friends (or, just convince everyone to move here), but for now I guess I'll just get comfortable with being a little uncomfortable.
And maybe I'll have Jay explain the layout of the city to me one more time. Please?