My life
He was late for his own birthday. So his friends spiked his drink, and she had to buy a roll of paper, and then take him home. There was the vague memory of a lot of people, and a lot of beer, before everything turned inside out and the whole evening ended up splattered on the sidewalk. She and Andrew took him home in the cab. He said, "you're the closest people in my life, really," and then proceeded to pass out. Then crossing the Queensboro Bridge in a cab. There was a light drizzle. Not cold enough to be cold, but not summer-warm enough to be at all pleasant. They got home. Everything felt solid and defined again. She cooked noodles sometime after midnight. It was really good. The zucchini was cooked till it was soft, like gourd. The tomato halves were soft and sweet. "In the end we are very simple animals."
It's been raining so much in New York. I bring two pairs of shoes to work. On the N train coming into Manhattan from Astoria, there aren't as many buskers as the other trains. At work, I read a lot of biology textbooks. At lunch, I sit out at Bryant Park. Sometimes after work, we go to Anyway cafe, or Rockwood. Always music, a lot of music, rapture. I've also found a regular story-telling slam group. Monday at the Nuyorican cafe, listening to stories about cats. Weekends: jogging around the sculpture park. A lot of cooking. This summer is a lot of cooking and a lot of music, and generally very little space. We take turns to cook, and when I do come home to the smell of food, I am always grateful. But living with someone is like having to live two lives, yours and his. How did my parents ever do this? This is all so new to me. Our neighbor downstairs is still, as bitchy as ever. Our house is as arthritic as ever. I put cushions and rugs all around our floor, as though I am making some Tumbletots playground.
On Sunday, my mother called, and it was magical. The dog, and everyone around Skype with candles, and my sister. My phone buzzed, and I woke up from a stressful dream--something to do with being chased by dinosaurs--was glad to be up. And then we all gathered around my computer and gave him a birthday song. As though willing away the night before. It was magical.
It's been raining so much in New York. I bring two pairs of shoes to work. On the N train coming into Manhattan from Astoria, there aren't as many buskers as the other trains. At work, I read a lot of biology textbooks. At lunch, I sit out at Bryant Park. Sometimes after work, we go to Anyway cafe, or Rockwood. Always music, a lot of music, rapture. I've also found a regular story-telling slam group. Monday at the Nuyorican cafe, listening to stories about cats. Weekends: jogging around the sculpture park. A lot of cooking. This summer is a lot of cooking and a lot of music, and generally very little space. We take turns to cook, and when I do come home to the smell of food, I am always grateful. But living with someone is like having to live two lives, yours and his. How did my parents ever do this? This is all so new to me. Our neighbor downstairs is still, as bitchy as ever. Our house is as arthritic as ever. I put cushions and rugs all around our floor, as though I am making some Tumbletots playground.
On Sunday, my mother called, and it was magical. The dog, and everyone around Skype with candles, and my sister. My phone buzzed, and I woke up from a stressful dream--something to do with being chased by dinosaurs--was glad to be up. And then we all gathered around my computer and gave him a birthday song. As though willing away the night before. It was magical.
1 Comments:
hello my love. ın turkey now, ıt's absolutely amazıng. ı have so many storıes to tell now. wısh ı was seeıng you thıs summer. what's your address? get ıt to me quıck and ı'll send a postcard :) love.
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