part two.
man, it's nice having internet again... that's not just on my phone. makes me a much faster typer.
i didn't realize until maybe a day or two ago how much i'm looking forward to this week/weekend of pure play time with old friends in my old stomping grounds. it's the perfect point of transition. fall is just beginning to creep in... i'm just moved into this new, lovely little apartment with more space and more room to grow, and it feels like it almost took no effort to get here. the winding down of summer means there will be more time at home, less time here and there and everywhere. more brunches, more dinners, more knitting time, more time with just the two of us curled up on the couch watching the west wing (i hope). i've crossed a lot of things off my little to-do list finally, and i'm focusing a little more on me again.
and, i guess, us. two nights ago when i was finding my way home on foot from north beach around midnight, kind of basking in the afterglow of a really, really great dinner party with oldish and newish friends, i was struck again, as i usually am during these happy moments, how much i missed you that evening. i always miss you when you're away, but the feeling is amplified when i am closer to my element, closer to the point when i am the best, brightest, funniest, prettiest girl i can be on that particular night. and in my mind, i carved out all these words, all these lovely words about what i feel when you're away and i'm eating bread pudding that you would have loved and i'm laughing at a big table about politics and people and how we keep thinking someone says burningman when they really say burlingame.
but then, today, when i was walking home from the gym and watching the fog roll in beyond the ballet buildings up the block, i realized that i'll never actually give you or tell you those words. maybe because there won't be a right time, maybe because they will feel inadequate, or silly, or because we don't really tell each other these things. usually it's a problem of there not being enough time, so maybe that will be the excuse this time around when it will be, for you, a round-the-clock marathon of work, social, work, social (like that's something new).
in any case, maybe the words don't even need to be said. that's my best case scenario.
remember when I'd cry into my soup
and you would say that it's okay?
for now, here i am, finally with my room with a little more of a view. i'm perched at my desk, tap tap tapping away at the window, munching on my leftovers, realizing there is some weird sort of carrie bradshaw-esque design to this but i don't care.
maybe the fall will also mean writing more again. i'd like that.
i didn't realize until maybe a day or two ago how much i'm looking forward to this week/weekend of pure play time with old friends in my old stomping grounds. it's the perfect point of transition. fall is just beginning to creep in... i'm just moved into this new, lovely little apartment with more space and more room to grow, and it feels like it almost took no effort to get here. the winding down of summer means there will be more time at home, less time here and there and everywhere. more brunches, more dinners, more knitting time, more time with just the two of us curled up on the couch watching the west wing (i hope). i've crossed a lot of things off my little to-do list finally, and i'm focusing a little more on me again.
and, i guess, us. two nights ago when i was finding my way home on foot from north beach around midnight, kind of basking in the afterglow of a really, really great dinner party with oldish and newish friends, i was struck again, as i usually am during these happy moments, how much i missed you that evening. i always miss you when you're away, but the feeling is amplified when i am closer to my element, closer to the point when i am the best, brightest, funniest, prettiest girl i can be on that particular night. and in my mind, i carved out all these words, all these lovely words about what i feel when you're away and i'm eating bread pudding that you would have loved and i'm laughing at a big table about politics and people and how we keep thinking someone says burningman when they really say burlingame.
but then, today, when i was walking home from the gym and watching the fog roll in beyond the ballet buildings up the block, i realized that i'll never actually give you or tell you those words. maybe because there won't be a right time, maybe because they will feel inadequate, or silly, or because we don't really tell each other these things. usually it's a problem of there not being enough time, so maybe that will be the excuse this time around when it will be, for you, a round-the-clock marathon of work, social, work, social (like that's something new).
in any case, maybe the words don't even need to be said. that's my best case scenario.
remember when I'd cry into my soup
and you would say that it's okay?
for now, here i am, finally with my room with a little more of a view. i'm perched at my desk, tap tap tapping away at the window, munching on my leftovers, realizing there is some weird sort of carrie bradshaw-esque design to this but i don't care.
maybe the fall will also mean writing more again. i'd like that.