building this life

It didn't get any better

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I really did intend for yesterday to be better.

The best of intentions...

Wedding-day-dress-shopping-day-two. No need to dress quite so fancy. I'd wear flats, loafers. I'd don makeup and a pair of pedal-pushers (Remember that term? Let's bring it back, shall we?), but I'd be comfortable. Myself.

I wouldn't overreach.

And so there was to be no incident.

I got on the F train. Decided not to transfer to the 6. I'd ride it as far as I could in Manhattan and then just walk a bit.

But I was a little late.

And the train ride was so long. And there was a little anxiety--I started to have a little anxiety. About everything and nothing. And all I could think was, I'm gonna need a good cry today.

And some months it's hormones, you know? Some months even I'm floored that as the hormones surge, emotions go amok.

I got off at 63rd and Lex.

Let it be known that I hate the Upper East Side. I just do. And the station there at 63rd is like four full flights of (long) stairs underground--by the time I made it to the street I was more than a little out of breath.

So I decided to hail a cab--I thrust my arm into the air and took off to the corner. At which point I collided with a woman who was walking forward as she looked behind her. It was both of our faults. But because of the physics of how we were moving and something, she remained upright, while I went absolutely flying. I mean...even I was shocked by the force with which I hit the ground. She helped me up at which point she made some comment about that's what happens when two people aren't looking--making sure to include herself, but...I was already on the mat. Actually and metaphorically and I didn't need a lecture.

I climbed into the cab. A little bit humilited and a little bit shaken--a tear in my pedal pushers. And that's when I had a panic attack. Trying not to cry, and trying desperately to get some air to my lungs, and the cab driver...bless him, was just. out of his. depth.

Don't cry, don't cry, you make me cry. I crawled out of the cab at the bridal salon and into the arms of my friend Joy. She couldn't tell if I was crying or laughing--and to her credit, both were happening: messily and all at once.

Some weeks you just can't win.

Spilt coffee, cut knees. A whole lotta mess.

Some weeks New York is just too hard.

ON PASSING FUNKS AND SPILT COFFEE

in ,

Mostly I don't know how it happens.

How a passing funk just passes.

But it does.

I think it has something to do with the weather.

And a visiting girlfriend who is so damn smart that you watch her and think yes--that is a game I'd like to play and suddenly, over the course of a day, your vocabulary is elevated and you find your mind is pliable--hell, it likes to be stretched.

And I think it has to do with reading books in which the heroine is ballsy and adventurous and unyielding in her desire to just live. life. better. (which really means living. life. fuller).

I think it has to do with live music. And good food. And nights out. And rooftop bars. And making eyes with good looking men.

And it passes.

Mostly, it probably has to do with the passing of time. And just seeing it out.

Yesterday I woke early. Showered. Put on makeup. Dressed myself in some of my better clothes. I was meeting one of my dearest friends at Vera Wang so that she might try on wedding dresses. And I thought: when one goes to Vera Wang, one must dress for the occasion.

And as I headed to the subway, coffee in hand, I caught a glimpse of my reflection and thought, not so bad today. not. so. bad.

It was at Broadway-Lafayette, transferring to the 6 train, that disaster struck. The train was already in the station as I got off the escalator and I rushed around the corner to beat the closing doors. I stuck my elbow in such a way as to prop the doors open. It was a smooth move--I felt good about it. The doors would open all the way, I'd walk in, they'd close, and that'd be that.

But they didn't open all the way. And this caught me off guard.

Have you ever seen someone's coffee shoot three feet into the air (not the cup, just the coffee)? Well...let me tell you, it's something to behold. It happens when they squeeze the coffee cup and the lid shoots off and...think of trying to crush a beer can--that's sort of what happened to my cardboard cup.

Except that there was no trying. It simply happened.

The coffee wasn't hot. So at least there was that. But some of it landed on a man (though not much, and he was wearing a black coat, so... small miracles). Most of it landed on the floor. And on me.

Sticky hands.

I was so embarrassed I got off at the next station and waited for the next train--which is what I should have done in the first place. YES. I SEE THE IRONY IN THAT.

New York has a way of putting you in your place. The moment you get too comfortable or too cocky the 6 train comes along and absolutely schools you. Or you run into that person you never wanted to see again and you think, blerg, this city is too small.

This is all to say, I walked into Vera Wang reeking of spilt coffee and with a trench missing a button (I'd like to blame the button on the train debacle, but I've needed to sew that button on for months now, which makes it all the more embarrassing--I can hear my mother rolling her eyes all the way from Texas). But it's so who I am--mostly smoke and mirrors where looking-pulled-together is concerned. Let's be honest, I'm the gal that'll don fake-eyelashes and worry that when at the end of the night the man kisses me they'll come right off, right on his cheek (it has yet to happen, but it's just a matter of time). In fact I'm waiting to see that scene in some rom-com (intellectual property claim).

Today Joy and I are off to Monique Lhuillier. And I'm hoping to walk in with a little more grace. I'm sipping my coffee now, and will wait for the 6, if need be.

 

MY NEW YORK + ROUND THESE PARTS

in , ,

there's not too much to report on this end. life has been... a little unclear and a little uneasy and quite a bit of leaning into the unknown.
but okay.
life has been okay--both because of and despite all those many murky things.
though i must admit  i do believe the winter blues stole upon me these last few weeks and i can feel my body craving spring, calling out for the green that heralds the season. i love my neighborhood always, but never quite so much as when it is flush with green and the birds sing that morning song.