I made it to the Walters on Friday. I used to work there in what now seems like the impossibly distant past which made it strange when a whole bunch of people recognized me. When I left to move down here (when I got here I discovered that I had just left what was actually, like, one of the single best jobs in the country and I would never, ever get another job with benefits and perks and all like that one, damn, damn, damn, not to mention amazing, incredible art around you all day long, every day, argh) the museum was in the painful throes of complete reconstruction and I hadn't been back since. They did an awesome job. The museum looks AMAZING. And this idea, which I remember hearing about back in the day, of creating a sort of kunst und wunder kamera (which is German and therefore intellectual for Room Full of Cool Shit) is just so awesome you wouldn't believe it. I wish I'd had more time to spend in there.
One of the many, many very difficult things about a trip like the one I just took is the weird dichotomy between sorrow and joy, vacation and memorial - it was great to go back to the Walters, it was great to see so many old friends, it was great to be in Baltimore for a few days, but it was terrible, too, because we were (and are; I personally am a complete fucking basket case right now) all so sad and shell shocked and wandering around in just a sort of wide eyed stunned misery. It was hard to run into former coworkers and explain what I was doing in Baltimore in the beginning of February. It was hard all the way through - I went from the museum to the Safeway, where I sat in the snowy parking lot and cried my eyes out for 15 minutes.
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