Maybe apartment sitting reverses my age twenty years. I am suddenly four or five and I can play house. I find myself walking around unfamiliar grown up territory touching counters, sinks, & tables and admiring pictures posted on the fridge and in frames. I almost feel the need to wear an apron. I am in awe and feel overwhelmed by how wonderful it is to have a space of my own in a city I love so much. (Even if it is just for a weekend) Emily & Eric were kind enough to let me "house sit" their apartment. I vow that I could lock myself up in that little biodome and be satified for a year.
Four bookshelves are double packed and contain everything from Pushkin to Pollitt to John Stewart's America. The collection of movies outshines any Blockbuster and the white wedding cake couch is so comfy as I sit to read essays of Susan Sontag on war and photography. I pretend that the little love notes around the house are for me.
I love you baby.
Happy Valentines Day.
Thank you, baby.
At night I can hear the sound of public transportation over the sound of my fans. The el train roars metalically and the sound is gritty. I wish to live near a train again. I find the sound comforting and alive. The pigeons tap on the air conditioner each morning and I can hear them cooing and flapping outside. But the best part is the access I have: to the people I love, the the large blue lake, and the city.
Book suggestion: am totally in love with Jonathon Safron Foer's Incredibly Close and Extremely Loud. I am listening it on cd and I think the readers make the book even more marvelous.
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