Summer Love

First of all, y’all have excellent taste in celebrities. Alan Rickman. Yes yes, I might drool for him. Gabriel Byrne! Oh yes, please. Thank you.

In other news, and this is hardly news worth even mentioning, I’m tired. Bone tired, the way one can only get after working so much you’re not sure which way is up, and I’d like to point out that there seems to be little end in sight to the tiredness, and to the never-ending work and agony, and I’m trying to enjoy it, really I am, but there are days when I just want to throw it all into a fuck-it bucket. The unfortunate thing is that it’s not in my nature, because dammit, I can’t turn off the Capricorn. I can’t. I am responsible! I will do my best! No no, I WILL BE THE BEST DAMMIT AND YOU WILL LIKE IT.

Capricorns understand this. I know you do.

However! I’ve been meaning to mention that I’ve been wearing an eye mask to sleep, and to say it’s made a world of difference is a global understatement, because an eye mask changes the world! And it makes it darker, and blocks out the flickering of the television and, when combined with earplugs, ensures that I will remain completely oblivious to a home invasion and will likely be stabbed to death within weeks. Yeah, um, I’m wearing an eye mask to sleep. I suppose it’s the closest I’ll ever get to Greta Garbo, although it would be vastly improved by the addition of a peignoir.

Anyway, as a distraction, Adam and I were talking about our days living in the city, and once in a while I wax nostalgic about my apartment in the North End, or that little shithole we had in Cambridge, and I think gee, living in the city was great, and boy howdy, do I miss it. And I do — I miss Boston a whole lot — but I miss the same things I would if I were merely living in the ‘burbs in Massachusetts. Small grocery markets, and local restaurants and the ability to walk anywhere and everywhere for anything you need within moments. A local dry cleaner. Cheap nail salons. Indian take-out. The Falafel King.

Winter.

Oh, the city winter. I miss watching the flakes come down softly against the street lights, and I miss the cotton-like crunch of the snow against my boots as I walked home from work each evening. I miss bundling up and taking a walk near the waterfront and eating dinner at a cozy restaurant with twinkly lights and warm bread.

Oh yes. City snow beats the pants off of suburban snow, where it gathers in giant wet puddles and mucks up the idyllic scenery by creating a universe of gray slush without the comforting mosaic of warm storefronts and tiny restaurants. So yes, I miss the city a lot, and more specifically, I miss winter in the city. And then I remember — or, more accurately, Adam reminds me — of the innumerable inconveniences, like trying to squeeze a week’s worth of groceries into a Black Paw backpack, and praying that your ice cream doesn’t leak before you get off the T, because the nearest Stop ‘n Shop is eleven miles away. I have far too many memories of wheeling — yes, wheeling — my groceries in a suitcase up the hill from Johnny’s Foodmaster, the three packages of chicken I’d crammed into the bottom leaking salmonella-infested juices onto the asparagus, and more importantly, into the fabric of the suitcase, which would now be used for groceries only, because no one needs chicken juice in their thongs, they just don’t.

But you know, the sad truth is that as much as I miss the city — that feeling of connectedness, and the wonder that is winter in a busy city — I’m a suburban person, and I’m not sure if there’s a more uncool admission. I might as well announce that the Olive Garden is my favorite little Italian bistro, because boy, that chef can whip up a good canneloni, just like mom used to make! (Um, it’s not, by the way).

But I like being able to put my groceries into my car and drive them home to unload them in the safety of my own garage. And while I think strip malls are hideous, I’d be lying to you if I said I didn’t secretly revel in their convenience, because having a Mailboxes, Etc. on every corner does, in fact, make my life easier, I’m sorry, it just does. And I want to hate Target — I want to pretend that I realize that it’s all cheap and useless and distracting and a waste, a colossal waste — but the truth is, I am enamored with its luscious red shelves and ample parking. And that makes me a sad, sad consumerist asshat, and I’m really, really sorry.

But honestly, above all else right now, I miss winter. Oh, what I wouldn’t give for a day of snow — just one day of beautiful, quiet snow, so I could stay inside and eat soup and light candles and stoke a fire and snuggle up with a cup of real-live hot tea, instead of the iced that I’ve been making for so long I can’t even remember when I started.

Anyway.

Look, I know this is crazy and irrational and snow sucks, but did I mention it was 97 degrees today and my dog won’t poop in this heat because her bowels are sealed shut from the humidity? You’d miss winter too!

Happy Wednesday!

*Why yes, it is Justin Timberlake, why do you ask? While I still don’t think he’s attractive, I like him, and you are owed that admission after my cruel, cruel words against that godawful Delilah song.

27 comments August 22nd, 2007