The Upsidedown
My official smoking window is in the dining-room. Sitting on the sill, I can hear: seagulls, the jingle of the streetcar on Broadway, airplanes on the flight path above, the faraway ghost sound of waterfront trains (always wondering: how does that sound travel all the way up here?).
I've added "reading Trump's Twitter comments" as a daily activity because it's heartening to see how much vitriol his posts inspire and how clever and funny people can be, even if it's depressing to note that the community I find is in definition to this ridiculousness.
At Pettirosso last night over a drink, Katie often interjects to move me along. "Okay, that's getting a little heavy, let's change subjects to something slightly less dark, shall we?" Invariably, whatever the next subject is, I devolve again. She's a good friend to sit through this with me, to remind me that I do need to be social.
"This is all normal," I say out loud, probably more to myself. "It takes time to get used to moving anywhere. It's okay."
Slowly, some routines form, a sort of comfort, even as the days grow shorter and evening light arrives around 4pm. I know where I sit on the couch to watch TV. I know which side of the bed I sleep on. I finally reach for the right drawers. There's a way I let the shades down, turning the blinds justso. The coffee has a home, which means I'll soon feel like I have one too. Sometimes, I run into Spencer at the Lightrail stop on our way to work in opposite directions.
My cousin with the perfect Persian marriage is getting divorced. And "it's ugly," she tells me on her front porch as she sneaks a cig like old high school days. There's a custody battle and lawyers and she changed the security system and the kids all dyed their hair pink (silently, I love that this last detail is included in the list of woes).
My first Ex returns to his family for Thanksgiving from his home in NYC, and he visits me. I tell him about my cousin because we were still dating 15 years ago when she first got married and he knows her. "Well that was a long time coming," he says, leaning out of the dining-room window to exhale. "At least you and I didn't ruin any kids."
"Yes, at least there's that," I say. The rest is familiar.
I've added "reading Trump's Twitter comments" as a daily activity because it's heartening to see how much vitriol his posts inspire and how clever and funny people can be, even if it's depressing to note that the community I find is in definition to this ridiculousness.
At Pettirosso last night over a drink, Katie often interjects to move me along. "Okay, that's getting a little heavy, let's change subjects to something slightly less dark, shall we?" Invariably, whatever the next subject is, I devolve again. She's a good friend to sit through this with me, to remind me that I do need to be social.
"This is all normal," I say out loud, probably more to myself. "It takes time to get used to moving anywhere. It's okay."
Slowly, some routines form, a sort of comfort, even as the days grow shorter and evening light arrives around 4pm. I know where I sit on the couch to watch TV. I know which side of the bed I sleep on. I finally reach for the right drawers. There's a way I let the shades down, turning the blinds justso. The coffee has a home, which means I'll soon feel like I have one too. Sometimes, I run into Spencer at the Lightrail stop on our way to work in opposite directions.
My cousin with the perfect Persian marriage is getting divorced. And "it's ugly," she tells me on her front porch as she sneaks a cig like old high school days. There's a custody battle and lawyers and she changed the security system and the kids all dyed their hair pink (silently, I love that this last detail is included in the list of woes).
My first Ex returns to his family for Thanksgiving from his home in NYC, and he visits me. I tell him about my cousin because we were still dating 15 years ago when she first got married and he knows her. "Well that was a long time coming," he says, leaning out of the dining-room window to exhale. "At least you and I didn't ruin any kids."
"Yes, at least there's that," I say. The rest is familiar.