The anxiety is crippling. Like I’m being choked. Disappointment is palpable. And it’s all I can do to not fall into a rabbit hole of my own making. Of my sadness. Even now, just the thought takes over my body.
It. Is. Exhausting.
Where did he go? Where did I go?
I came to Boston as an 18yr old who thought she knew everything.
Like most college bound students. But on that September day in 1998, as my parents drove away in their Subaru, I stood in my dorm room on Hemenway Street and I had never felt more scared. Because I didn’t know everything. And who would teach me now?
Last night as I stood on my pretty great wood floors in my pretty great Cambridge apartment that I share with a pretty great woman, I started to prepare myself dinner. And then I thought about what a privilege that was. To have the time. To have the means. To not have to consult with anyone about whether or not they wanted mushroom black bean quesadillas. To not have to make enough for two. Or three. Or four. Or to make enough for two (or three or four) and then get to eat it all myself. And that I could eat it while laying on the couch while watching Breaking Bad (yes I still haven’t finished Season 5) wearing leggings, some
weird Jim Beam socks, and a tank top.
as he led her through the bar. It was a gentle touch of hand to her upper back, but the gesture was enough to signal to the crowd, to me, that he was protecting her, that they shared a history, and possibly a future. I noticed him, her, the touch. He did not notice me. Continue reading
I recently saw an article about the Sex and the City shows and what had become of the series and its legacy. And this quote really hit me: “What if it were the story of a woman who lost herself in her thirties, who was changed by a poisonous, powerful love affair, and who emerged, finally, surrounded by her friends?.” And it had me thinking about what the show had meant for me in my life. Ya know, just like every other single gal living in a city has wondered. So add me to the list. Continue reading