Telling

Email exchange with Adam this morning: A: "Hey, your boyfriend's on the Drudge homepage." (I look at Drudge homepage) K: "Which one, Ahmadinejad or Obama?" A: "Brian Williams." K: "Oh THAT one!" Eccentric? Demented? I know not the best description for my taste in men. What really needs to be said here, though, is that this whole conversation started today because I woke up from a very vivid dream this morning in which Brian Williams traveled to my house to hang out where I proceeded to try and get him in the sack. Unfortunately he was not amused and hit on my sister instead. And the best part? We got to my house on a very special, hidden "Reporters' Railroad" with golden cars, available only to very special journalists. Brian was happy to give me a (non-sexy) lesson about the history of the rail cars for some reason, but was still partial to hitting on my sister instead of me. Part of me was not bothered, though, because in-my-dream Brian Williams was kind of a frat boy. I'm holding out for real life Brian Williams, who instead likes dogs, spray tans and his adorable elderly father. And is totes sexy and into me.

the one pool where i'd happily drown

ah new york was a whirlwind. it was a beautiful weekend. seventy degrees and perfect. i walked my feet to complete disrepair. they hurt in every way imaginable. everytime i go to new york i do so with the hope that she'll sweep me off my feet. that something in me will wake and i will have no choice but to new york or perish. she is a great city. things happen there. people and taxis and art and money and food and clothes and ahhhh. but there's something foreboding about her. this constant feeling that if you turn the wrong corner, she'll swallow you alive. but you love her all the same. i'm listening to lcd soundsystem right now and the singer just said "new york's the greatest if you get someone to pay your rent." and i laughed. not much on earth rivals a stroll through the west village in the sunshine with a few cupcakes. adam is convinced the city won't survive the next few years. i like to think that's not true, but also think that probably adds to the eerie feeling. it's hard to be an "american" and not feel completely protective of new york. it is the most american place on earth. and not in a flag-waving post-9/11 god bless sort of way. people work so hard. you can feel the blood and sweat all over. it's exhilarating and exhausting in every second. i came home to seventy-five degrees and perfect. and my dahlias are blooming. it's a different world here. not better. just different. (i'll try and hassle adam into getting me some of the pictures he took.)

doing

i was standing in our empty office eating my lunch, looking out the window and watching one of the school's gardeners carefully arrange twenty five or so plants in an empty flowerbed. sometimes (a lot of times) i think about quitting everything and adopting a trade like gardening. some trade where i can use my hands a create something. sit outside and dig holes and arrange fauna and understand the properties of potting soil. tactility. that's what i'm after. this is what happens to the dreams of a 23 year old woman when she spends too much time in a windowless office with only her excel spreadsheets to keep her company.