just thought i'd share.

yesterday morning i woke, found myself in the kitchen, and thought, oh husband that i'll one day have, promise me you'll load and unload the dishwasher. 

and then as fate would have it i was watching the single's dodgeball episode of 30 Rock and lo and behold: 

I want someone who will be monogamous and nice to his mother. And I want someone who likes musicals, but knows to just shut his mouth when I’m watching Lost. And I want someone who thinks being really into cars is lame, and strip clubs are gross. I want someone who will actually empty the dishwasher instead of just taking out forks as needed - like I do. I want someone with clean hands and feet and beefy forearms, like a damn Disney prince. And I want him to genuinely like me. Even when I’m old. And that’s what I want.

you gotta love that liz lemon.

(ps: i hate the new blogger format. it doesn't do what i want. like, why is everything in caps?!!! except of course this. blerg.)

monday morning revelation.

you think you're immune to such things as the dreamy doctor in blue scrubs.

you're not susceptible to such cliches. you're...(dare you say it), better than that.

and one morning you wake up and life is as it's always been.

and you climb the hill to subway. the hill that you've climbed so many times before.

and then there in the distance, on the corner, is the cut of a man. a man in that unmistakable blue. and you get it. you finally get that thing that has for so long eluded you. and as edith piaf would say, heaven have mercy.

and everything is different and life has humbled you. because yes. yes. you too love the cliche.

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.

studying stars.

sometimes i can't imagine how two people ever fall in love.

it seems to me the world is a complex constellation of misdirected gazes.

her looking at him looking at that woman looking at that man looking at that girl looking at that boy looking at. the wrong her.

a zigzagging, never-ending game of connect the dots.

but i suppose, out of every million misplaced glances, there is one brief, silent, glittering connection:

two pairs of eyes meeting. and the world set ablaze.

umbrella.

last night i dreamt that a man i once loved lent me an umbrella.

i awoke feeling slightly unsettled.

does this mean the metaphorical rains are headed my way?

perhaps.

but maybe it also means that the umbrella will be there just at the exact moment the sky opens up and the landscape of my life begins to shift.