found in an old journal.

why is it that i cannot write about loving him?

i can write about green tennis shoes. or a baseball hat worn aslant. i can write about exposed brick walls and the movie rushmore. sitting on opposite ends of the couch with too much to say sitting just between us. or street fighter and nick drake. i can write about dark theaters and hanging pony-tails. long-narrow corridors with well-worn floors.

i can write about all these things--all these parts. but i cannot write about him.

and because i cannot write about him, i cannot write about love.

lovely ladies.

i'm so glad to be back here in the city.

truly, i couldn't be happier.

to be in my own bed. to walk the streets that my feet know so well. to watch the sun rise over the hudson.

and yet. i have found that i am homesick. for the lazy days spent in the car with my mother. and the lazier evenings gathered round the living room table, eating simple foods and watching summer re-runs. homesick for my family, really.

so when on this past saturday morning i got the chance to surround myself with strong, independent, courageous, women--all friends, i thought, well these ladies, they're family too. homesickness, be gone!

it was perfection. let it be known, i would like to do this every saturday.

ps: i don't like to brag. but...

i totally spent my saturday with

these blogging superstars:

rockstar naomi (who really is as gorgeous pregnant as you think she is)

natalie of (no) sex and the city fame (who really is as fun as you think she is)

and nat the fat rat (who is nine months pregnant, celebrating a birthday this week, and who i couldn't be happier to welcome to the upper west side)

a post that feels a bit like housework (but also another song--and this one's even better).

there is a baby actually screaming across the courtyard (to the point that i want to go over and help, or ask them to close their window). and i can hear the tea kettle whistling in someone's apartment. i love the yellow glow of lights early in the morning when the sky is still gray. the clatter of spoons against mugs and bowls. the preparation, readying for the day. oh, the morning.

i'm preparing for a long day of dentist, followed by pursuit of a job with some steady income, followed by babysitting.

so instead of writing a post, i leave you with this:

(i don't mean to be on a music kick, but this is one of the most beautiful songs i've heard in a long, long time {so for the love of pete (of pete's sake fame) listen to it}).

i do promise to post later today (something more than a music video). so check back. i'll update you on my weekend and i'm trying to write down some thoughts on what it means to be back in new york after my time away in utah.

enjoy this wednesday!

(ps: the baby has stopped screaming. phew.)

for your tuesday morning viewing pleasure:

no other reason for this then i found it utterly toe-tapping this morning.

and a little odd. and who doesn't need a little odd in their life?

a chalkboard headboard. (say that three times fast).

i was in the process of moving into my current apartment when i made the decision to take the three-month hiatus to utah.

it was important to me to lay out the bare bones of my bedroom, but i didn't want to put any time into really stamping the room as "my own" for fear that it would make leaving even harder.

if there was one thing my time in utah taught me, it is that i place a high premium on personal space. in my last weeks there i began dreaming of my apartment, my room, my little corner in the sky. so i scoured design-sponge for ideas.

i wanted to create a headboard of sorts because to me a good headboard signals adulthood. and since i'll be twenty-five in exactly one week, adulthood seems of the utmost import.

i wanted something cheap and easy. i thought of laying fabric over wood. or using coffee-filter pom-poms against the wall as a kind of cloth backdrop. or cutting out wallpaper in the shape of something glorious (anthro has some great prints).

instead i went with the old stand-by: chalkboard paint. it goes well with the dark-wood furniture of my bedroom and it was unbelievably easy and totally imperfect. i think it was the imperfection i found most attractive.

so here you have it...

the next step in the development of my "adult" bedroom will be finding proper pillows, the arrival of my reading chair, and figuring out a place for some coffee filter pom-poms (because i love them so). so slow and steady. slow and steady.

in the end my room may not look terribly grown up, but i have a hankering that it will reflect my personal aesthetic. and in the end that's all we can really hope for, right?

acclimation.

you forget. you go away for a little while and amnesia (or something like it) creeps in.

and then you get back.

and there's that hill leading up to the subway. and the steps--steps, everywhere! and you walk from here to there and from there to here and on and on (all with a heavy bag {bags}). and the heavy doors--the pulling and the pushing.

and suddenly you remember.

and suddenly the body feels the strain.

and a type of exhaustion takes hold, unique to this city.

but the exhaustion will pass.

and i will be back in fighting form in no time.

i had forgotten how the whole of the city conspires to whip one into shape.

but my blistered feet and strained calves, well they certainly remember now.

and lattes. lattes, too. very serious about those.

(ignore the strange look on my face. exhaustion, maybe? i forgot just how much nyc takes it out of you.)

post-edit: the top is from anthropol0gie's sale rack circa this time last year.

it should be noted: i am very serious about sorbet.

(okay, okay. not that serious. and it's chocolate and coconut if you're wondering {a scoop of each}--tastes like a giant mounds bar).

(and ignore the fact that i'm back to being a bag lady. that's new york for you {or well, for me}).

i feel pretty. oh so pretty.

it happened tonight.

as i was standing on the subway.

shuffling feet, finding a tenuous balance.

matted, greasy hair.

red, blotchy face (post work-out coupled with sudden onset of rosacea).

and i was eating watermelon. it was all over my fingers.

i felt like a mess. in fact i'm quite sure i was a mess.

and just then, as the watermelon juice began to drip down my chin, it happened, i had the thought:

huh, i feel beautiful. in this moment--just now, i feel really, actually, quite beautiful.

and there you have it. and that is life.

oh autumn. delicious autumn.

listen: this world is the lunatic's sphere,

don't always agree it's real,

even with my feet upon it

and the postman knowing my door

my address is somewhere else.

hafiz

a little letter.

ben is my friend.

we are both from houston. and we both like mexican food.

we met the summer after our junior year. in chicago. not houston. (go figure).

ben was my prom date. it was 80's themed. he wore a blue t-shirt with a gray blazer. and yes, the collar was popped. i wore a metallic blue dress that i had gotten off of ebay. (and so much eye-shadow that i will never speak of it again).

and then ben and i both went to juilliard.

i've blogged about him before. because he's funny. and he makes me laugh.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

the week before i left for my three-month-summer-sojourn i got to see ben quite a bit. there's something about spending time with a person who's known you for a while. who comes from the same place. and shares the same love of food.

we talked about how i was on a saturday morning flight to houston. and ben on a flight to los angeles that same day. we talked about this several times. (at least three) but never mentioned the time of the flight or from the airport from which we'd be flying.

i was on a terribly early flight--a flight that only i would choose.

i remember being unbelievably afraid that morning. walking out of the apartment. the cab to the airport. my god, what was i doing?

getting through security. rolling my large suitcase. panicked heart-beats.

and arriving at the gate. at something like six in the morning.

and i looked over. and there across the sea of blue seats was ben. head-cocked, looking at me.

and i laughed. because he'd chosen the crack-of-dawn-flight too. and he'd gotten there even earlier than me. kindred spirits we are. yes, he was off to la, but he was catching a connecting flight through houston. go figure.

ben's presence that morning (and the surprise of it) was a little gift of some higher power. to calm my breathing. and remind me that we're given what exactly what is needed, exactly when we need it.

we talked our way into neighboring seats. and as i began the first leg of my journey, i did so with a friend.

ben was off to la because he got this little job. doing a television show. no big deal. he's the lead, but whatever. and it's on nbc following the office, but you know, that's life.

i've seen the pilot. and i must say the show is lovely and funny and so well done. and ben is gorgeous in it. absolute perfection.

i'm most excited for the people-magazine-spread about him that is sure to come. because they always dig up high-school prom photos (and need i remind you that we went to prom together?).

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

i suppose this is an open love letter to ben. a thanks for his friendship. (despite kinda ditching him at the dance, despite the hard years of school, despite my hermetic tendencies).

ben, darling, i'm so proud of you.

and sorry ladies, he's taken. and not by me.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

watch ben on outsourced this thursday. 9:30/8:30 central.

(ps: i totally have a crush on the guy playing "man-meat")

returning. coming home.

the city in autumn is equal parts explosion and bouquet.

it is profusion of light.

it is the soft, gray glow of saturday evenings. autumn creeping in. playing a taunting, haunting game of hide-and-seek.

it is the young jewish boys. celebrating the high holiday. dressed in fine, black suits, slightly too big. each one holding the door open for an elder. an act of reverence and honor. of youth bowing before tradition and history and all that is to come.

it is the ichabod-crane-like-trees buttressing the north side of the museum of natural history. tall and thin. bare, white trunks. high, reaching arms. silent screams to the sky.

it is the grid of streets. crossword puzzles for the feet.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

i fell in love with the city my first night back.

i saw it for its parts. and its whole. i saw it with the expanse of my back. and i saw with the crook of my elbow. i saw it with my feet and my fingers and my nose and the strands of hair just around my face.

i felt the city. and there on the blackened streets, beneath the thinning trees i offered thanks for both the odyssey and the return home.

giving thanks.

there are moments when i can't get over how incredibly fortunate i am.

when the sheer weight of all the blessings in my life is almost too much to bear.

and so i find myself sending up silent prayer after silent prayer. giving thanks.

thanks for mornings in the kitchen, here in my childhood home. the streaming light and marble countertops.

for time with my mother. in the car. running errands. talking about all the things that mothers and daughters talk about. for the habit and comfort of it.

thanks for my father. and the fact that he drags me to the gym with him. and plops 5 lb. barbells in my hands as i walk on the treadmill.

thanks for parents who rally around me. protect me when they sense it is needed.

for nights out to new italian restaurants. and nights in watching silly television.

for the comfort of the tree-lined streets and blazing-heat.

for a home i can always return to. a cocoon of love and safe-keeping.

and the freedom to leave. and live my life. mistakes and all.

image.

vegetarian delight.

dear lunchtime-sandwich,

you are perfection.

need i say more?

oh, but i will.

with your glistening tomatoes, ripe avocado, unruly alfalfa sprouts and surprising cilantro you have undone me.

all your ingredients bring such satisfaction, but none so much as the horseradish mayonnaise. oh, the horseradish mayonnaise! it is potent. and i love it for that alone.

so, dearest lunchtime-sandwich, this is all to say, thank you for making the decision to forgo meat day-after-day so darn pleasurable.

love, love,

the former cheeseburger queen

blue skies.

thanks to emily, i have this on repeat.

utah

it was about three weeks in when my face puffed up. it was ever so slight. hardly discernible to others, i'm sure.

but for me. i knew. i knew it was the signaling of the slipping to the other side of the line. you know, that slippery line separating happiness from oh-er-not-quite.

i was twenty when i first slipped. when i first became sad. and i have spent the subsequent five years working my way back. fighting for both air and light.

i have made lists. reminding myself to get out of bed and brush my teeth. to lock the door behind me and bring a book for the subway ride. to turn on music and turn to those who love me despite my many failings (and flailings). to sing in the shower (or try. to try, at least).

and oh the progress i have made! and oh the work that has been put into it. the choices made day after day. conscious. with great effort. until they became habit. the constant movement of kicking legs under still water. effortless. (or something like it).

but three weeks into utah my face puffed up. and i slipped again. and i watched as the happiness that i had fought so desperately for--that happiness that took near five years--that happiness that was more often thought than experience--more hope than faith--slipped through my grasping fingers. and. it. was. agony.

i think it might be harder the second time. because you know the path. and you know just how terrifying that trail can be.

and the thing was, i was happy. before i left--just a mere three months ago--i was really happy.

something happened at the start of this year. my tangled string of thoughts began to organize itself. and the thoughts became manageable and efficient. and this base level of happiness rolled out before me. and i met a guy who made me feel beautiful as i hadn't in quite some time. and life rolled on. gloriously. because there was sense. and feeling beyond sense. transcendence. even in my directionless, haphazard life there existed a little bit of bliss. and when some version of what always happens happened, and the guy became not-the-right-guy, and my heart broke just a little, i was still okay. yes, there was sadness, but it was passing. of a different plane. and because i was still okay, i was buoyant, even as i cried myself to sleep at night.

and somewhere not long after all this i got a little message. asking me to come to utah. to give acting a whirl. and because it was the absence of happiness and its accompanying companion (the eating disorder) that had driven me from theatre, forced me to take time to focus on those aforementioned little things like getting out of bed (and making said bed) i thought, why not? of course. i am well now. i can do this. i can see if i'm ready. to go back. to resume my path.

and so i went. and so i watched. as that happiness--that hard-won, hard-fought happiness slipped and slid away.

and i wanted to die. i wanted to get down on the cool, wet, utah grass, under that heaven of a star-lit sky and disappear into the ground.

because i didn't think i had the fight left in me for a second-go-of it.

but here i am. i survived (or some version of that). and there's always a little more fight. right?

it's just gonna take some time.

i know there must be a reason for all of this. that it's just another turn on this tricky little path. it's a patch of mud--a little muck, that's all.

i'm sure that before i know i'll reach a clearing. and things will get easier. but until then... well, until then, i suppose i'll just keep making lists, and getting out of bed in the morning.

and maybe i'll be wrong. maybe this second time will be easier. and much more meaningful.

yes, more meaningful. let's go with that.

weekend getaway: austin

i took to the texas highway this weekend to visit my friend whitney in austin where she's just begun law school.

i wish i could describe just how much i love the city of austin. it's different from all others in texas: the terrain, the politics, the concentration of light.

the city is just a little bit weird. and when i say a little bit, i mean quite a bit, and in the best possible way.

it was good to be surrounded by weird. to have a good girlfriend to talk to. to eat far too much tex-mex. (even) to take in a football game {and not to worry i was outfitted in the right color}.

and of course ice cream. always, always ice cream.

when the words won't flow.

i was going to write about my experience in utah.

about the lovely people i met.

and the million things i learned.

and the two-month-period i felt like i had fallen in a sink-hole.

but i've been so busy watching the spaniards dominate the u.s. open and marveling at the high-winds that no words have come.

only a strong desire for autumn.

for cool weather and knee-high boots.

and berets.

oh, for a good beret!

so no wordy post. just this:

i almost ran over a peacock today.

i was driving home from the coffee shop today (okay, starbucks {but doesn't it sound more glamorous if i say the coffee shop}) and there on one of the backstreets of my neighborhood was a gorgeous male peacock. feathers all ablaze and aglow.

i cursed myself for not having my camera in my purse just about the same time i slammed on the brakes (okay, okay, i didn't slam, i'm a pretty good {read: careful} driver so i saw it far enough in advance, but the story is better if slamming occurs).

i'd not ever seen a peacock in the neighborhood before.

yes, when i was in fourth grade there were those two that lived several neighborhoods over and we used to drive in search of them after school. and then there was that one school in dallas that seemed to have several that would mill about campus. but none before had been spotted in mine OWN neighborhood.

this must be a very good sign.

god it's good to be home.

{this post brought to you with much love by what now appears to be a brain made of something akin to mush.}

and now i go home.

home i go now.

headed toward the promise of vegetarian chili.

and lots of hours of watching the u.s. open.

thank you utah, it has been lovely.

really, really lovely.

one last performance.

it is my last day here in utah.

i am busy cleaning and packing and washing and post office-ing and the like.

i have had such a lovely time. have loved getting to meet so many of you. and have learned more than i ever imagined--in fact i imagine i'll be sifting through what i learned here for many, many months to come.

but words cannot express how grateful i am to return to texas tomorrow. to spend ten glorious days sleeping in my four-posted bed. to cook meals with my mother and sit with both my parents on the living room floor as we watch the u.s. open.

and then back to new york. to a life i have worked very hard to build. to a life i am breathlessly grateful for. to subways and roommates and early mornings and the hudson just out the window.

but before i go. there is one last performance tonight. one last chance for me to feel like i've sunk into this tremendous character of juliet (i don't feel like i've gotten it yet--close, but not quite). it's in memorial park (just off of center street in provo) at 7 and i'd so love for you to come. there is nothing like seeing your beautiful faces in the audience. nothing like meeting you after. so bring a blanket, bring some food, and know that we really do begin right at 7 (we're surprisingly prompt in this regard!).

and give me a chance to say thank you and good bye.

"It would be possible to describe everything scientifically, but it would make no sense; it would be without meaning, as if you described a Beethoven symphony as a variation of wave pressure."

albert einstein

photo.

almost there.

this morning i awoke.

and i hurt.

everywhere.

as though i had managed to sleep funny. all-over.

as though i had just run a marathon. climbed a mountain. pushed my body to the limits of extremity.

my friend anne said it's probably stress resolving itself. surfacing before it exits the body.

perhaps it is knowing that this (this utah adventure of mine) ends tuesday morning. knowing that this adventure which was harder than i ever dared imagine--that this adventure which forced more questions than answers--this adventure which revealed thousands of new things--this forced-boil--is almost over.

it has been impossible. this adventure. i'm not going to lie and say it has been anything less than impossible. and for i who lean toward the histrionic, this statement does not even approach hyperbole.

but it has been an adventure. of that i am sure. and for that i give thanks as i slowly and quietly massage the pain up and out, up and out.

thinking back. (and some much needed color on the blog).

it was a year ago now that i winged my way across the atlantic to australia. a year ago. to visit with my friend stevie before he eloped to hawaii. to fall in love with his fiancee miriam. to fall in love with lattes and mochas and infused australian light.

this morning with nothing to do i paged through my photos. allowing those year-ago feelings to wash over me.

so indulge me. here is the australia i loved. one year later.