... & the city

And everything is alright again, in one swift motion, or perhaps a pretty afternoon. I sat with an old friend on the balcony and looked around and realized that life is like this. It's strange and terrifying and absolutely wonderful.
Last night, Emily and I watched a foreign movie and just talked about everything. It was comforting.
I went to sleep and slept well. Things still aren't together, and that's alright. It doesn't have to happen today, or even tomorrow. It can happen whenever; it's not going away.
I walked outside my building today and saw what looked like a large sign of garage sales. Families, selling nothing worth having, really. It was sad and thrilling at the same time. To know that three stories below me someone else is trying to make a life and is only hoping to succeed in supplementing their income is a sad thing, but strangely exciting at the same time. You don't see that at home. It's strange to be in such a different place culturally all the time without having to leave the city. It's a cluster of different neighborhoods, different ethnicities, different mentalities, different values and ideals, but it's home. It's Chicago.

Sadness, for the 3rd time.

Being here is hard for me, for some reason. I'm alone, again, even though I have Emily. I miss home, Denver, Danny, Mom.
It's a challenge, something I certainly wasn't expecting. I've been thrown off, completely. My days are empty. I'm exhausted all the time. I'm finally eating again, which is probably a good thing. I find myself disconnected.
It's going to be rough, starting this whole life thing all over again.
Maybe once school starts, things will settle down a little bit.
Every year gets harder; I have no idea why. There's nothing left for me in Denver, really. What would I do? Stay at Dairy Queen and let my chances at life bleed to death? No, please, not that.
I'll stay here and take my chances.
The ending of the relationship is something I never thought I'd have to take to heart; I never am the one that gets hurt, but this time, I can't even comprehend it. I'll take my time, and let myself be alone and comfortable with that, but if things don't start to get better, I can always get back together with him.
I'm going to concentrate on school, concentrate on trying to form new friendships (yikes!), and then try and let things fall into place.
I just can't force my life to happen, and for now, it's in a lull and I think the lesson here is that I have to be okay with that. I have to be self-sufficient and capable of being alone, facing long hours by myself. I can do that. I can work on the things that are wrong with me. I can be a better person. I can try and be social, try and meet new people and do new things. I can do all of this, given the opportunity.
I need to find a job.
I need a day with no tears.
I'll be alright, I think.
There's no turning back, not now. We're too far in.

Pico de Gallo

Sally Mulqueen's favorite color is yellow. She crochets blankets in her spare time to help children (and niece and nephews, as well). She drives a white Toyota Avalon, digs hiking and pictures of wildflowers and gets along with Fruitypants (remarkably).
Tomorrow is her birthday. On her calendar that hangs on the side of her refrigerator there is a little thing that you should do each day. Some days it's smile, or do something you love, or cook a good meal, but tomorrow it should say: Call Aunt Sally and tell her that you love her.
I wouldn't be here (in my beautiful and slightly strange Chicago apartment) without all of the work that she does to help me and Mike. Aunt Sally, thank you.




One time, at Chili's on State street.....
Aunt Sally, this pico de gallo is for you.
Happy Birthday!