just a reminder.

cool autumnal air is pouring in through the the open windows, battling with the radiator (over which i have no control).

the candles are lit.

and the room is clean.

john legend is playing on the stereo. john legend is best played in the winter months.

the vase is clean, waiting for the flowers i'll pick up on my way home from work.

my parents arrive tonight.

i'm hoping we'll go to dinner at the new leaf cafe which by it's own description serves "seasonal modern American drawing inspiration from local green markets, upstate New York farms and New York City's community gardens" and the proceeds go to support Fort Tryon Park, the surrounding community, the 55 NYC community gardens, and four sponsored city parks. i'm realizing that what we eat, on a daily basis, affects everyone--the choices we make are important. it's not just about what we want in any given moment, it's about what's best for our health as well as the environment (but more about that later).

the whole point of this post was to re-post this:

You, yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection.

Buddha

i began repeating these words to myself yesterday, and each time i did it was like hitting the re-set button. it made me stop, breathe, and send a little love my own way. and because of this...the room is clean and the candles are lit and john legend is playing on the stereo and i can feel love in all its many forms as i sit on the my stool and type this.

happy tuesday. enjoy this day.

image of new leaf via google search.

or so i feel.

there's this line from the guernsey literary and potato peel pie society that i keep thinking about:

"What did he look like?" I asked, for I wanted to picture the scene. I expected it was a futile request, given that men cannot describe eachother, but Dawsey knew how. "He looked like the German you imagine--tall, blonde hair, blue eyes--except he could feel pain."

sometimes i think, just for today--just for today i will be the woman with the perfectly manicured nail beds who does crossword puzzles to completion and listens to this american life on a regular basis.

just for today i'll be the woman in the three-inch-pumps who woke at seven for her five-mile-run. and who can smile just-so and melt the heart of many-a-man.

just for today i'll be the girl who doesn't need months to warm-up to someone, for whom shyness is not a reality, but something read about in literature or dissected in art-house movie theatres.

who sits down to a meal. by herself--without four years of ghosts trailing just beyond her field of vision.

for whom sadness is a singular event--occurring intermittently at best. who can speak three languages and laughs sans snort. who cuts her grapefruit gracefully and and prepares her meals in advance. who always responds to emails and calls in a prompt fashion. who mails thank-yous the days she's finished writing them. by hand. whose handwriting doesn't deteriorate to scribble. ever.

who knows what day of the week it is when she wakes in the morning. and how much money she has in her bank account--wait, scratch that, who has money in her bank account.

but i'm not. i am not that woman. not today. not tomorrow. probably, not ever.

but today--today i can feel pain. and that's something.

understanding the bard. and bed. bed, too.

last night i dreamt of a man.

he placed his hands, open palms to my shoulders, equidistant on my back.

and they were clammy.

and this is how i knew he loved me.

and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.

and i awoke thinking my world would never be the same. sensuality and shakespeare elucidated by a single dream? ha, a mystical mind have i!

breakfast confession.

i wish i was the girl who didn't mutilate her grapefruit in an attempt at consumption.

but i am.

and such is life.

(though i think with that teapot,

i would not be a grapefruit mutilator,

and all would be well with my life.

image via visualize.us)

the nesting urge has moved to the kitchen. but i can't cook.

i want a house. it doesn't need to be big. in connecticut maybe? just outside san francisco? you tell me where, i'll go.

i want the kitchen to have black and white tiled floors. with a cuisinart on the counter. and none of that terrible fluorescent lighting. i'll employ lamps if i have to. or chinese lanterns. and i will make guacamole from scratch. always. because, this i can do. and a three tiered apron will i wear as i sit in front of the oven, willing the bread to rise. you will peek your head in and laugh. and i will throw mine back. and there in our tiny kitchen under the christmas lights and hanging pans, we will dance. circling ever closer to the curly-corded phone that you will raise to your ear and dial for take-out. and then, i will laugh. and you will catch me mid-guffaw. with a kiss. and with that kiss you will swallow my laugh. and sustenance will i have provided.

and that will be our kitchen.