Date: 2011-07-02
From: Diana's Apartment, New York City

To: Diana's Apartment, New York City, Day 2
Miles today: 0.0

(In which I rest)I wake up sometime after 9am and spend the next eleven hours sitting at a desk in front of a laptop, lying on a couch with the laptop on my lap, or sleeping on the couch with the laptop playing music on the table beside me. It is a level of extreme inactivity normally achieved only by the infirm or the cripplingly depressed, and I might have been concerned if I had not just spent the past several weeks dreaming about doing exactly this.I catch up on The Internet, read months worth of RSS feeds, and research gear, pouring over hundreds of articles and reviews of battery packs, headphones, sleeping pads and tents, until the state of each market finally comes into view, like a pointillist painting after you have stepped back far enough.Throughout the day I listen to Julianna Barwick's new album, The Magic Place continually. I stream the album from NPR's music website, and as soon as it finishes I hit play to restart it, mesmerized by the ethereal voices and dreamy touches of piano. If hiking gives one trail-eyes for women, it also gives trail-ears for music, and when I am still entranced by the music on my eighth or ninth playing, I wonder how much of the music I like now will hold up after I have finished hiking and settled back into a world with more readily available listening options.At 8:30pm, having only nibbled on a few snacks during the day, I order cheesy bread and cinnamon sticks through Domino's website and place the order for pick up to give myself an excuse to leave the apartment and to save the delivery fee. Hours of sitting after months of walking have caused my feet to swell and puff up into chubbier versions of themselves that I have a hard time identifying as my own, but a minute of walking around the apartment is enough to reduce the swelling so that my shoes will fit.The doorman from last night gives me a warning look as he lets me leave, the way a cop might look at a petty thief who is just beneath his attention so long as he watches out. I jog down the Manhattan streets for the novelty of it and to shake off some of the day's lethargy. As I jog it occurs to me what having a doorman reminds me of. The experience makes me feel like I do every time I return to the United States and have to pass though customs. Having done my first overseas traveling after 9/11, I have only ever known the openly hostile, presumed-guilty style of customs interrogation, and each experience makes me seriously contemplate never leaving the country again simply to avoid ever having to go through customs. Like the doorman, the customs officials are there for my own safety, but leave me wondering how the world came to such a sorry state. Still, I am glad to have an apartment to stay in (and a country to live in), and am hopeful enough to imagine a world ever so slightly more open and less fearful than it is today.Back in the apartment I wolf down half of the cheesy bread in less than a minute, suddenly realizing how hungry I am after hardly eating all day. I stop only when I realize that my stomach might not appreciate this sudden gorging, and take a break to listen to some more Julianna Barwick before resuming my meal at a more moderate pace.As much as I would have liked to spend time with my aunt, whose apartment I am staying in, I am glad for the opportunity to rest without having to socialize (having only spoken to the Domino's clerk, I have been less social today than any of my previous 92 days on the trail). Tomorrow, perhaps, I will venture out to explore the city.