It’s 12:28 AM and I’m swaying back and forth in my cream colored doily dress to “Je Suis Jamais Allé.” Last night, I devoured a cheese stuffed omelette and a walnut, pear and craisin spinach salad in my mentor’s airy studio. Afterwards, I soothed my bloated stomach nibbling on fresh strawberry halves and sipping strawberry tea straight out of Budapest. I mailed a card to India. Today, I called a friend who will hike the Lost Coast trail next week; last week when we spoke he had pitched a tent in his Manhattan apartment. I walked for forty minutes in Central Park spontaneously on Tuesday with what already feels like an old, cherished friendship, where the conversation drifted as usual to our contempt and appreciation for urban politics. I rambled on and on about practicality and ideology and outcomes and core beliefs to a friend in a hospital bed whose summer intentions drip drop away like the ice cream I forgot to fetch at Häagen-Dazs’ free afternoon two days ago. Oh, and the Giants won today and Matt Cain still gives up home run after home run and crushes my heart with his ERA. There was also those lunch time questions that reframed my relationship with Bloomberg. Thank you question asker; you may thought provoke me any time you wish. (I may demand more.) In anticipation of my impending move, there is still a scarf, dress and cardigan unaccounted for and too much worry in my inventory. Last night, I dreamt that one of my besties (you know the type) basically sat me down and said, “Let’s not be what we are to each other any more. Like this friendship totally doesn’t work.” After two weeks of calling (no responses never) this actually worried me in its feasibility; he phoned me immediately after work this afternoon and told me I had to pick what mattered more–my prophetic power or our relationship.
Love ya too. Also, happy birthday stephanie ferguson. yup. 23 now. join the club. you’re always the first person i’d pick to join mine.
so much sunshine late these days. so little money to be had and copious amounts of time that god wants to know how i’ll be spending it.
Dear Elena, Put yourself into these sentences and come lug over your brown sandals and splashy dresses and intellectual inquisitiveness and intrude into my New York existence.This is my rich life; it misses you so.