(no subject)
bill fox is very different (and in the case of certain, more wistful songs, better) in the snow. i highly recommend it, if possible.
i landed at jfk at dawn this morning, the sunrise all red and ridiculous over neat squares of white. i would have taken a picture had i been able to keep my eyes open for long enough to reach for my bag. after a ride home from a friendly cabbie who told me i looked like a dominican soap opera star (one whose name he conveniently couldn't rememeber) and told me that my move from san francisco to new york makes me an "immigrant at home," (more on that one later) i ended up once again in my mouse infested apartment, a little bit worse/better for wear. immediately passed out for four hours (bringing my running sleep total for the last...five days up to about sixteen hours), made a run to trader joes, was discouraged by the line and absconded to food emporium, shook the snow out of my hair and am now baking a spinach pie.
sheesh. new york. so much so, yes. despite my recent realization that i could, if i wanted to, maybe be really fucking happy in san francisco, i know that this is right. very much so. crossing the street against the light, traffic whooshing by, snow flakes melting on my bottom lip and sticking in my eyelashes, picking out the squirrel tracks outside my apartment.
and on and one into the night.
i landed at jfk at dawn this morning, the sunrise all red and ridiculous over neat squares of white. i would have taken a picture had i been able to keep my eyes open for long enough to reach for my bag. after a ride home from a friendly cabbie who told me i looked like a dominican soap opera star (one whose name he conveniently couldn't rememeber) and told me that my move from san francisco to new york makes me an "immigrant at home," (more on that one later) i ended up once again in my mouse infested apartment, a little bit worse/better for wear. immediately passed out for four hours (bringing my running sleep total for the last...five days up to about sixteen hours), made a run to trader joes, was discouraged by the line and absconded to food emporium, shook the snow out of my hair and am now baking a spinach pie.
sheesh. new york. so much so, yes. despite my recent realization that i could, if i wanted to, maybe be really fucking happy in san francisco, i know that this is right. very much so. crossing the street against the light, traffic whooshing by, snow flakes melting on my bottom lip and sticking in my eyelashes, picking out the squirrel tracks outside my apartment.
and on and one into the night.