It was a little much, is the point.
I'm curious about my decisions, of late. I spend a lot of time saying, "I don't know." It is one of my new favourite phrases, right next to "I'm fine."
I wonder how my relationships would change if I took the time to answer each question truly, thoughtfully, with purpose, with clarity of mind. It's not a realistic way to live, I know. But then suddenly I'm standing on a corner in SoHo with a paper cup of green tea and finding myself in the middle of a conversation I should never have been having, it is so at odds with what I know - I do know - I think I know - somewhere, maybe I know - to be true.
Does this make sense to anyone else?
I'm making a list of all the things I want for spring. New clothes, you know. Neutral wedges and bright denim. This won't happen, because I can't afford these things, but I wonder if I were to make a list of other things I want for spring: a truthful understanding of what I need from a partner. An accurate portrait of my career aspirations.
Also, one of those face robots that make your skin glow. And maybe a juicer?
It's just spring, I guess, and what this spring, in particular, means for me - maybe my last season in New York. I'm paying extra attention to the crocuses thumbing their way out of the late winter soil. I'm uncovering the pith of my being, letting the March sun, the weak, near-manufactured New York sun, warm it up. Soon I'll purge my winter clothes and unfold my summer dresses, all while knowing I might have to pack it all up soon, my life here, and with it, my fragile, exhausted heart.
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