who i am at 24.

this morning i woke up to a new year. 

i buttoned up my brand new, crisp-as-they-come, white blouse, took a good long look in the mirror and decided that yes, 24 felt different in the best possible way. i was different. better. immediately, i knew.

then i gave one squirt of smashbox foundation into my waiting hand and ended up with five gloriously large makeup blobs all over my brand new shirt--my never-been-worn shirt. and i was brought back to reality. this would not be the year of the immaculately clean white blouse. a new year, a new day does not a different person make. i am still the girl who gets make-up on her shirt (or food--more often food), stumbles over her words, and does not realize that the restaurant has not been serving broccoli now for a full 34 days (as my boss so kindly pointed out). 

and you know what? thank God above for my persistent little foibles. they're glorious. and i love them.

my girlfriend from high school and i were speaking on the phone today. about boys. (what all young, twenty-something women most love to discuss). and she mentioned a boy she had dated several years ago that she would be meeting up with soon. she expressed trepidation about the time elapsed and said, i'm not same person i was at fifteen. to which i replied, thank God,  whitney. thank God we're not the same people. 

okay, so i am different today. and i'll be different tomorrow. each day brings a new and exciting adventure. 

i may not be so young as i was last year. but i have a year's worth of knowledge along with a new number. and for the first time in my life i feel like i am on the precipice of... everything. 

so 24. who am i. well, here goes.

if i could have a constant supply of anything for the rest of my life it would be flowers and paper toweling. 

at the grocery store, i most love coming away with the tall, slender bottles of pellegrino. it makes me feel...french.

i hiccup any time i've had too much food or eaten too quickly. so... often. very, very often. 

there is a direct correlation between the quality of my mood and the cleanliness of my home.

laughter. above all, i need laughter. small hiccups of laughs and roaring guffaws. when i think of the man i'll marry there is so much i dream of. but the only thing i know--i mean really know--is that he'll laugh at my jokes and my constant mistakes. and himself. oh for a man who can laugh at himself! he'll make me laugh and for this i'll love him as though our lives depend on it. 

i'd like to tell you that ned isn't following me into this new year. but he is. two weeks ago i would have said, no, no way. but with the onset of bed bugs and thus a disrupted sleep cycle, he has taken taken this opportunity to creep back in. when i am healthy it's as though i've found a little pocket of air in which to breathe--and i ride it for as long as i can. it's a sweet spot where ned can't touch me. and i know that in the process of recovering it's important to fall out of the pocket so that i can figure out how to get back to it quickly. so i'm trying to give thanks for the fall out. but giving thanks isn't always so easy. nor is finding my way back in. 

back in april i gave myself a year to fail, to fall on my ass again and again. and i'm doing it and loving it. and i've still got a good six months. 

i promised myself that come 24 i would take pictures. all the time. every day. it would take work and practice, but i would make it a habit. and it would be a crushing blow to ned. but i'm not feeling very picture pretty today. so i make this promise. it will be a week late, but come this weekend i will post some photos. full length photos. photos that pretty or not will show you who i am in a way that my words cannot. 

i feel good about this age. this 24 number will be a good one. ned will end. and i will fall in love. (that's my divination for the future...i guess we'll see if my predictions are on point!). 

ps: i have a crush on a man who snaps his fingers. and when he does it's strong and clear and reminds me of my father and this inspires great confidence. 

photo via sabino.

in new york.

yesterday morning i woke up itching away. 

it was 4 am. 

and i had gone to bed wearing shoes.

all i wanted to do was take a hot shower.

and our hot water had been turned off.

this was a low point. 

a very, very, low point.

but i made the decision to have a good day.

and then learned that sometimes even making the decision does not a good day ensure.

but last night?

well, last night i slept until the gentle ding ding ding of my alarm. 

i then took a piping hot shower, drank in the autumnal air, and knew it would be a good day.

often, people here in manhattan want to know why i moved so far north. and this whole bed bug thing has increased the rapidity of those questions. 

well, to them i say this:

bed bugs and all i wouldn't change a thing. because this morning when i went for my jog, this is what i saw:

and yes. this was in new york city.

giving thanks

last night, after realizing that to steam everything i own would take the better part of this next year, i had another moment. 

so i gathered up my bedding and took it to the cleaners. 

then i put on the largest cable-knit sweater i own, drank in the fresh fall air and was reminded why it is that i feel most hopeful in the fall: something about that crisp air and the changing of the leaves. and that too--that was a moment.

so i gathered up all my moments--collected them and gave thanks for each and every one. 

a moment that shall pass.

i had a moment today. at work.

standing there in my crisp, freshly-laundered, black suit, itching away at the little red bites, i thought, i am four days away. another year.  and this is my life?

i've had many a moment like this, this past week.

polishing silverware. a moment.

cleaning tables. a moment.

standing in the midst of $500 dollar vacuums. a moment.

on the corner of 59th and madison. a moment.

lying in a bug infested bed with a boy who i did not wish to kiss. moment after moment after moment.

i could collect these moments. string them together. wear them as a necklace--a warning sign. trouble here. keep walking. 

"i'm damaged bad at best" paul elliot sings and most days i walk around wondering if people can see that phrase emblazoned on my irises. i see the world through a series of scars that make letters that make words that make a thought.

last night as i lay in a bed not my own, i reached into my memory and watched as the last four years clouded over. steam obscuring images obscuring truth. 

this--all of this. this is not an act of courage. it is cowardly and selfish. i write because i cannot speak. i am a mute parading as an artist.

acorns and grapes

sometimes my chicken-little-within feels the thump of an acorn and thinks the sky is falling.

a couple of bad food days.

and so i'm forced to pick up the acorn, hold it in my hands, and describe the things that make it just exactly what it is.

i must go back to the basics. remind myself: the food i want is not necessarily the food my body wants.

and so i pull out my list of fruits and vegetables that i find tolerable. choose one and make it my goal for the day to fall in love with it.  

i do love this grape. i do love this grape. i do love this grape.

and i begin again. because it is not the beginning. just a new place to start.