morning of the morning of the morning of.

it's a sunny spectacular of a day and i'm about to go away.

yes, away from here, from the things and people i call home. of course, only for a week, but that span of time seems to stretch rather far into my imagination at the moment. off to the very metropolis i seem to heavily crush on, if crushes on big masses of brick and concrete, on streets and sidewalks, on alleys and alleycats, are possible. and oh, but i think they are.

so it's just going to be me and the big city. we'll go on dates, have fun, share moments. and in all my wandering, i'll be wondering about, well, everything. what is it about strolling solo through a foreign place that makes you get all reflective and introspective? it's like getting to know the unknown also forces you to get to know the known - the known being your mind, your feelings, your neurotic jackass self.

three days in brooklyn, three days in manhattan, six days of solitude. alright, that's a massively self-important statement. as well as an exaggeration. after all, i do have people to see, friends to meet, social situations to situate myself in. but there will be much daytime dilly dallying as well - gazing slack-jawed at spectacles, meandering through museums, snapping amateurish photographs..all the things that make time alone in a city full of things delightful.

and hopefully all the things that'll make me more insightful.

splitter splatter what's the matter.

it's raining outside, or rather, spitting sporadically. and that is the kind of alliterative nonsense that i am digging today. it would seem natural that this kind of weather would breed clarity - all the drops splashing down should wash away any confusions and/or muddled things, right? but instead, it seems to just be swooshing it all around into a vast puddle of huh's and why's and hmmms and how on earth did i suddenly arrive here?

of course, uncertainty is kind of rad, isn't it? it's the kind of thing that gets motivational coaches all hot and bothered, as they pump their fists and preach excitedly about "getting out of your comfort zone!!!" and "embracing new things!!" and though i wouldn't necessarily use those cliches, i get it.

it's time to run out into the rain, without an umbrella, rihanna be damned.

after all, nothing is really cut and dry.


****and i am certainly not, after returning from the beer store in a torrential downpour. funny how a small drizzle can turn into a monsoon in minutes. and i, carrying two six packs in hand, splashed home, getting soggier by the second. it was a gleeful journey at first -- there's something liberating about just sucking it up and letting yourself get soaked. when the cardboard lowenbrau/stella combination started to sag, well, then i was in trouble. but quick thinking (and determination to save what i will later be drinking) abled me to make it through that. oh, but what a sight i was. blue dress bedraggled, hair shower-fresh, drooping beer cases in hand -- so beautiful was i that people were slowing their cars down to get a closer look.

anyhow, guess i got what i was proclaiming earlier. except the rihanna part. after all, who am i to damn such a pretty ditty?

cloudy afternoon. swoon.

actually i do prefer the sun, but there is something kind of delightful about a day like this. dark and brooding, like the heathcliff of tuesdays. my office is dimly lit, which makes things even gloomier. but again, the gloom is oddly comforting. like a nap you just want to fall into.

speaking of fall, well, it is here. and though it might retreat somewhat over the next few days, it's not going anywhere far. probably just down the street to a motel to lay low. wait for next week, when september welcomes it with open arms.

funny how every year around this time, out of habit, we all get that back to school feeling. i guess twenty three odd years solidifies that heavy anticipation, equal parts fear and excitement - the unholy glee you feel opening a fresh notebook, a package of pens, or picking your first day outfit. the sheer uncertainty you feel about the year that's stretched before you..all of that stays.

and so every time i get hit by the crisp crisp air, that realization hits me like a leaf, smack in the face. ch-ch-ch-changes are on their way. and ch-ch-ch-changes are always welcome.

because that's what autumn's for, right? it's a time for the times to be a changing. and if you think i can't think of any other bad "change" song references, you've underestimated my endlessly useless retainer of a brain. i shall spare you though, and instead trail off into pitter patter, as it's time to go off into the freezing evening and stuff myself silly. because you know, that's how animals warm themselves in the colder seasons.

though it's not time to hibernate, oh no. it's time to carpe diem and all that. or to see william blake immortalized in artless graffiti. it's going to be a beautiful year.

sundazed and possibly confused. no definitely confused.

there's trails of cloud across the sky outside my window - which sounds a bit like daydreamy pap, but i have to say, when the sun spills across your bedroom, you can't help but get a bit melo-poetic. of course, i wish i felt as chipper as the day looks - the amount of social butterflying has taken its toll on my fresh-faced energy. and so i sit, piecing together various incidents and in betweens from the last few days, hair slicked back into a lank ponytail, eyeliner smudged 'neath my tired eyes.

it was a weekend of engagements. not of the diamond ring variety - the ones where you arrange to meet someone somewhere somehow to do something. friday started off with beers and cheers and more than a few jeers, then moved to the neighborhood mcdonalds for some adolescent sustenance, then onwards to the concord cafe, where we pretended to be cultured, but really were just silly. a band crooned in the corner, and everyone hushed to rapt silence. that was our cue to leave, as silliness doesn't mix well with sincerity. off we went into the night. and into a cab that whisked us off to a house party where we posed for pictures with a large, pink stuffed fish. yes, it really was that surreal. next up was hemingways to meet up with a friend i hadn't seen in oh, twelve years. gone are her braces, and my thrift store army pants, replaced by black dresses and shiny hair, but the laughs were still the same - loud, unabashed waves of cackling. after, at a point in the night where you should really call it a night, we decided it would be a good idea to stop in at a random after hours party. and so, we stumbled into a basement full of smoke and hipsters. and not surprisingly, i stumbled out pretty quickly. my stamina for such things is limited, and people striking cool poses and exhaling smoke out their noses is a bit tedious. so there ended an evening of strange cross-city adventures.

saturday was less random, perhaps - but still quite frenzied and fun. a dinner party with lovely friends, full of aragula and shaved parmesan and bbq and red wine, laughter to the point of tears, especially when a chair collapsed during an anecdote about a chair collapsing, and possibly some living room dancing. so good were the times, that we didn't notice the inevitable passing of time, and so we missed the show we were supposed to attend. and so, we headed one block east to a birthday party on a roof, where we sipped lowenbraus and snapped photographs on some unsuspecting camera. or rather, on a camerea belonging to some unsuspecting fellow. he's in for a bit of a shock when he gets those developed (yes, some people apparently still use film!) and sees a bunch of girls hamming it up.

and now it is sunday sunday, my favourite day to wax on and on and off and off. it was a doozy weekend. and now i am woozy. my mind is a vacant lot. yes, i just wrote that. and you know what? it's a pretty good analogy. at least for the moment. because there are many, many (too many, really) things cluttering my head, but right now, i am too stupid to think about any of them. so i'll sit here with my headphones on, clattering away at the keys, waiting for monday to come and take me away.

just another manic thursday.

well, it was manic earlier, with 3 hour presentations & clients & all sorts of focus pocus. and now, earlier has turned into later and it's shifted gears into sleepy splendour. nothing better than yawning your life away. i wish that i could, without any guilt, tilt my head back onto this black almost but not quite herman miller chair of mine, and let my eyelashes flutter flutter till they rest against each other. that is to say, until my eyes close. and happily would i nappily nap for a good twenty minutes.

twenty minutes is, of course, the magic number in the snoozy science of shut-eye. see, it's just long enough for revitilization, just short enough that you don't emerge, dopey-eyed and dreary. somehow i don't think my co-workers would be that impressed if they walked by and saw me catnapping. but amused? yes. they expect such things of me - not blatant slackerism, perse, but definitely googly eyed giggly behavior. which makes me sound like an imbecile, but really, i just mean i'm known as slightly sly, the girl who's always smiling/laughing - and therefore must be up to something. "trouble".

anyhow, later has turned into later still, and here i sit, in a tidier than usual bedroom, wide awake and wondering what to do with my aimless self. the obvious choice? to welcome slumber as i wished to at the office. but obviously now that i'm in this bower of dozing power, i can't quite shake the awake.

thankfully tomorrow is friday once more. and my dress is laid out by the chimney with care. or maybe just by the door. no matter. it promises to be a long weekend. or perhaps, a longing weekend? there is much social butterflying to be done, events to attend, gatherings to join, if only for a moment, before flitting off to another.

what will it hold?

what sights will i behold?

could this drivel i am writing could be any less gold?

tra la la. i cannot seem to do anything except waste waste waste that thing called time.

seems that moments ago it was 5 pm, and i, bleary-eyed, was emerging from a day full of meeting/greeting, listening to my mind pleading for mercy. board rooms turned to bored rooms and there i sat vacantly doodling ballpoint pen masterpieces in the margin of my notebook. highschool or professional life? sometimes, it's hard to tell.

anyhow, it was 5. and now a blink later, it's past 11 pm, and the hands of the clock are rubbing together with glee as they ready themselves to welcome the midnight. happy new day. and did i accomplish anything in the hours that came between? by my calculator (and by calculator i mean me, face scrunched up in thinking cap splendour) it's been almost seven hours.

and yet, nothing of import has happened. i overstayed my own welcome in the office. till around 7 pm, swishing things back and forth in my head, like a submerged see saw. made a to do list. decided i didn't want to do anything on it. said hello to a succession of portugese cleaners, all of whom know me, because, guess what - i live there kinda.

ducked out into the evening, and was smacked in the face by the unshakeable feeling that fall is here. ok, maybe it's not quite here, but it's waiting in the wings, leaf blowers in hand, ready to do it's show stopping number, all red, gold and cold.

met up with a friend for guinness and good conversation. and if that sounds like a bad advertisement from the seventies, well, it very well could be one. but cliches i'll sling and praises i'll sing for that lovely beer, and i shan't be ashamed. post- a few of those, we hopped in a cab. which is truly, truly outrageous, really - but splitting one does peer pressure you into such a lazy mode of transportation. shame, really - it's the perfect time to walk home, meandering through city streets, skipping lightly over gutters and listening to music as your heart flutters. (rhyming again, it must be a sign of poetic greatness to come).

and then home again, home again, jiggity jig, piggity pig on the dinner and a quick descent into internet wandering and procrastination extraordinaire. of course, there's something fairly idiotic about feeling guilt for shirking work when it's way past work's bedtime, but such is the life of a, what, a career woman? a working girl? no, no, that doesn't sound quite right.

and instead of the time wasted producing genius from these click-clacking fingers - all you get is a play-by-play of a dullsville day. oh how irksome. oh how amusing.

chagrin.

with a grin.

sunday sunday sundae in the park.

not an entirely accurate statement as i'm in my living room, but it does sound delightful, doesn't it? even though it's overcast, the sunshine could come from such pursuits. or something.

but really, outdoor lazing and ice cream grazing are not two things high on the priority list today. because, you see, i have been shirking the working. and if you think i can't possibly keep rhyming in that irritating way, be warned. my desire to talk in couplets shall not be scorned. alright, enough. point is, i have much to do that i have avoided. or maybe not so much avoided, but blocked completely from my scattered brain. is it the harsh transition from penning witticisms about beer to thinking hard about insurance? or my tendency for leaning my thoughts too far forward, when the present is ever presenting me with tasks that require my full attention?

all of the above, all of the above.

and yet, i can't shake this distraction. it's like there is one little thing in my head that's effecting all the other things - kind of like when one pesky reddish item turns the rest of your laundry pinkish (which clearly just happened five minutes ago to this domestic anti-goddess) - everything's swirling in the same mess of blushing tide. or rather, the same mess of muddled mind.


so what next? do i accept it and show it off to the world, flaunting this unintentional turn of events, proclaim that pink is, in fact, the new black is the new pink? or do i carefully extract the guilty item, banishing it to the back of my wardrobe, along with all the other tainted goods? the former seems to appeal more than the latter.

after all, who isn't pretty in pink?

hangover the moon.

truly there is nothing more horrifying than the feeling that grabs you with its death claws the morning after. alright, so there are most definitely many, many more horrifying things in the world - but on days where the haze descends upon you like a giant cobweb, sticking to your clothes, your hair, your tongue - on days where your mind floats in the grey area between comatose and stupid - well, those are the days you feel justified in melodramatic wailings.

and so a thursday night has knocked my friday night out of the running. and friday isn't really impressed with such brusque dismissal. but gone is the stamina that used to let me flit from evening to evening, party plan in hand, ready to to rock and/or roll through every weekend. it's possible that it disappeared the moment i started using uncool phrases such as "rock and/or roll". or, when my body casually mentioned to me that i would be the death of it. i being my over-ambitious mind.

no matter. it happened and now things seem much less frenetic. or possibly less pathetic?


yes, i think that's a fair statement. optimism is the new everything. i mean, how can it not be when the pint glass is always half full?


at any rate, things are on the upswing. and though january can't come soon enough, the months in between are guaranteed to be almost too-interesting, like an overstuffed bookcase of hilarious anecdotes and cringe-inducing debriefs. packing in every single thing i love about everything and place i love.

because time is passing, oh but it is. which means it's time to stop checking my watch and just enjoy it.

everything's moving and so am i.

mildly poetic words i wrote in a 10th grade melodramatic acid-induced haze. at the time, my parents had just informed me i was moving to russia with them, and was covinced that being catapulted across the world was, in fact, the end of the world.

little did my sweet sixteen year old self know that this was the beginning of a life-long love affair with leaving.

unlike my teenage self, i have no one to push me onto that plane. i have to do it myself. not back to the onion domed magic metropolis of moscow, of course, but somewhere equally fantastic in its unpredictability.

sometimes i feel like i'm going to look down and notice that my feet are moving and the rest of me isn't, like in some bad cartoon. there i'll be, walking on mid-air, near a cliff, and when i realize, i'll look directly into the camera, panic, and sink to the ground. but in cartoons they pick themselves up again pretty effing easily. will i be so lucky?

frankly, i could care less.

yes, i want to panic, to sink, to get covered in the dust-up of new places, faces and stasis.

these days, it's more "everyone's moving - so why can't i?"