If something major happens to me and someone else has to deal with any part of my life for a while, I have to say that the most embarrassing part will probably be the stack of unopened letters from the loan companies who gave me the money for law school. In general, when I get such a letter, I toss it in the corner by the door, unopened, and hope that whatever I put on top of it will hide it from view. Good plan, self, good plan.
I'm disappointed at a grey Saturday. I don't mind clouds so much during the week, but I want brilliant sun on the weekend so I can go on a long ramble in the afternoon. Those long walks keep me sane, even better when they bring me to new places. I'm getting weary already with the same blocks I see every day. I walked last night from the train to a park, rather than take the bus. I walked through neighborhoods like so many close in to Gone West: houses a random collection of styles from the first half of the last century, little square yards with large flower beds and very little grass, dogs staring out from bay windows. We all shared my gabi from Ethiopia at the park, sitting and lying on it in grass that looked deceptively smooth until one sat down. S. brought her brother and a friend, who I had never met, and I thought again about how I expected, when I moved here, to be outgoing and take initiative and I thought that by seven months in, now, I would have a whole crowd of friends. But I'm the same person here as I ever was, it turns out, and I feel shy and a little turtley at the prospect of charging into new groups of people, of calling people I've met once or twice or even a dozen times.
I'm disappointed at a grey Saturday. I don't mind clouds so much during the week, but I want brilliant sun on the weekend so I can go on a long ramble in the afternoon. Those long walks keep me sane, even better when they bring me to new places. I'm getting weary already with the same blocks I see every day. I walked last night from the train to a park, rather than take the bus. I walked through neighborhoods like so many close in to Gone West: houses a random collection of styles from the first half of the last century, little square yards with large flower beds and very little grass, dogs staring out from bay windows. We all shared my gabi from Ethiopia at the park, sitting and lying on it in grass that looked deceptively smooth until one sat down. S. brought her brother and a friend, who I had never met, and I thought again about how I expected, when I moved here, to be outgoing and take initiative and I thought that by seven months in, now, I would have a whole crowd of friends. But I'm the same person here as I ever was, it turns out, and I feel shy and a little turtley at the prospect of charging into new groups of people, of calling people I've met once or twice or even a dozen times.
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