This is all you have (not) been missing.
I am one New York Year old -- as of June 22nd.
I am two deadlines and several days shy of going home. And then I think:: I am juggling my ambition with self disgust that I barely notice anymore - except that it's choking me. I am fighting, every day, for the right to stay in a city where we believe we've done something great by surviving watch me survive. I could make a list but my audience would get bored half way through.
My realtor and my landlord are still bickering about who paid what when to whom. My fingers are crossed that when the dust settles things will be more just fine than they have ever been in this apartment. I paid first month, last month, and security - we are damn well getting that money back to our pockets.
I am more spoiled than I have a right to be, and bother a loved one over the real estate of a few hours which I should be sleeping through anyways. I am so nervous that he won't be able to make it out to "home again, home again." Cheatas, kittens and the slow process of training someone you might want to be with forever, these echos on my body chase me into restless dreams. During those, I've begun asking about the White House, Oprah castings and all manner of things I really couldn't care too much about. He stands witness to my sleeping rambles.
I am sinking into the hole of "togetherness" and what a delicious slippery slide it is. But in my case there is no one here to demand that I call them, see them, make time for them. My sentinels here were of the popsicle stick and elmer's glue kind. "What payback for all those times I was vines and rocks for you?" I am not blaiming my self-chosen two best friends, only noting that my phone never rings anymore.
I am keeping a secret that doesn't belong to me. But there is no normal here, only days of throwing myself into things I am too tired of, and nights of subliminating my worries.
The last time I had three days off at the same time was Christmas. The time before that was Thanksgiving. The last time I had two days off together? Christmas. I mourn the death of "the weekend" but sitting beside me is evidence that it could be worse; He works eleven hours a day, six days a week and there is no "hour free." I am almost worried about what we will do without each other to fill up the void for five whole days.
I am two deadlines and several days shy of going home. And then I think:: I am juggling my ambition with self disgust that I barely notice anymore - except that it's choking me. I am fighting, every day, for the right to stay in a city where we believe we've done something great by surviving watch me survive. I could make a list but my audience would get bored half way through.
My realtor and my landlord are still bickering about who paid what when to whom. My fingers are crossed that when the dust settles things will be more just fine than they have ever been in this apartment. I paid first month, last month, and security - we are damn well getting that money back to our pockets.
I am more spoiled than I have a right to be, and bother a loved one over the real estate of a few hours which I should be sleeping through anyways. I am so nervous that he won't be able to make it out to "home again, home again." Cheatas, kittens and the slow process of training someone you might want to be with forever, these echos on my body chase me into restless dreams. During those, I've begun asking about the White House, Oprah castings and all manner of things I really couldn't care too much about. He stands witness to my sleeping rambles.
I am sinking into the hole of "togetherness" and what a delicious slippery slide it is. But in my case there is no one here to demand that I call them, see them, make time for them. My sentinels here were of the popsicle stick and elmer's glue kind. "What payback for all those times I was vines and rocks for you?" I am not blaiming my self-chosen two best friends, only noting that my phone never rings anymore.
I am keeping a secret that doesn't belong to me. But there is no normal here, only days of throwing myself into things I am too tired of, and nights of subliminating my worries.
The last time I had three days off at the same time was Christmas. The time before that was Thanksgiving. The last time I had two days off together? Christmas. I mourn the death of "the weekend" but sitting beside me is evidence that it could be worse; He works eleven hours a day, six days a week and there is no "hour free." I am almost worried about what we will do without each other to fill up the void for five whole days.