Simone

When I was in school I had this orchid named Simone that sat on the windowsill next to my bed, facing south. Every evening she caught the sunset, and every morning she drank in the dawn. When my roommates were gone, I'd talk to her. Sometimes I'd sing. I like to think it kept her alive for a very long time, but I have no way of proving it.  

Found these pictures of me and Finn from the end of summer. If you ignore him he will Address you

songs i like today

Everything in the shade, Sometimes I rush - Fine 

If you like Neko Case, Mazzy Star, Smerz

Too Late - M83

Strange Overtones - David Byrne, Brian Eno

Yellow Rose - Remi Wolf

You Make Me Weak At the Knees - Electrelane

Obscurity Knocks - Trashcan Sinatras

I’m Not Crazy - Junior Varsity 

I blogged about this album last summer. It feels like Ireland to me. And yes, it's back. Cross The Street is the best song to leave your apartment to in the morning when you're running late. Whole album goated tbh except the part about grey's anatomy

...and a few I picked up on my adventures

The Emperor's New Clothes - Sinead O'Connor 

Embarrassed I didn't know this one tbh

I Seen a Man Die - Scarface 

Also embarrassing that I didn't know this one

Show and Tell - Al Wilson 

Or this one

Prettiest Girl in the World - Sesame Girl

In this song the star is the bass line

these last five weeks

Chicago, DC, New York, DC, LA, DC, SF, DC

everything is changing and it's the most beautiful thing in the world

Today was a beautiful day. Spence was staying over; we grabbed breakfast sandwiches at the farmer's market and strolled through Kalorama, where we sat with Joe on the Spanish steps and talked about the future.

We dropped Spence off at the train and said our goodbyes on the platform like old friends have been doing for over a century, and it was strange but in that moment I felt insignificant in the way you do when you think about everyone who’s ever seen their friend off to the train as you have just done. I left him with a baggie of chocolate chip cookies and a letter. 

Monica and Joe and I set off in search of pumpkins. I ended up making the stupidest looking pumpkin I could muster. "Holy teeth," said Joe.

After I finished my carving I was wiping dried pumpkin pits off of my palms when Dani called me, which is weird, because our friendship has always floated along over text. I picked up, and she said "hi," and I said, "what's up?" and there was a silence, and then she whispered, "I'm engaged," and I fell to my knees. Never once have I done that before. I started to laugh and cry at the same time, and so did she, and that went on for a good ten minutes.

I went to the park and sat at the fountain for a while and listened to the songs Dani and Rikki associate with getting engaged: Love Takes Miles, Que Sera Sera. 

On the walk back to my apartment I encountered a sunflower so large and so imposing that I had to investigate. It's at least six feet tall, and its head is bigger than mine. I stood under it for a while trying to figure out how to measure it. 

16" laptop, so like a foot in diameter?

Some time after that I found myself at the store and bought green beans and a lemon, a carton of eggs, an eggplant, and two Lucy Rose apples. I called my dad while improvising dinner for me and Lyd: Crisp sautéed green beans with lemon and garlic and jammy shallot, roasted koginut squash with hazelnuts and burrata, roasted eggplant. For dessert we shared an apple and peanut butter, and Lyd walked home.

After all that, I called my dad back. He put my mom on, and she listened to me for a while. A few years ago I'd never have been able to tell her what I tell her now. I made some more calls: I love to chat on a Sunday evening. I spent some time talking to an old friend, dropped in on Richa on her drive home... 

And now I am ready for bed. I am struck by how much everything has changed, is changing, will change, and how beautiful it all is. Today I am in a place where I just want it all. 

Things from los angeles

Last night I was at All Time once again with Juju, which we’ve decided is our place. We sat there sipping lemonade and whispering about why do you think they sat us at the bar and I think two of the servers are catalog models. 

We talked about other things too. We came up with some diagnostic questions for every relationship: Are you happier or sadder now? What about life has gotten easier or harder? Do you like it better than being single? Are the questions you have about yourself any different from what they were before?

We were perched on these high chairs with our legs crossed, and it’s one of those friendships where the knee you grab when you have something to say isn’t yours, and you don’t need to use the little plates they give to each of you for sharing food. We pulled out a notebook and made diagrams, as usual, this time by candlelight. That restaurant must spend a thousand dollars on wax every week. We asked the bartender to roll our food slowly and sat there for just under three hours, taking our time picking the figs and tarragon out from among the glistening tomatoes and soaking every last bit of goat cheese in vinegar. Everything was delicious and salty. Cold fish and the last of the summer tomatoes, itty bitty figs, goat cheese and roasted corn and charred cabbage in a bed of stewed beans and wet herbs, and what I can only assume were Harry’s Berries in a bowl of loose cream and vanilla bean custard. I wanted a second one, but we were too full. We should have ordered it anyway. 

I think about Juliet whenever I start to hate myself for thinking about love. I love that she does and want to know every thought. It seems good to try to turn that curiosity onto myself. She drove me back to Ethan and Elvira’s with the roof open and the windows down, and the air felt warm and wet the way it often does in October in LA, and seemingly everyone hates except for me. I let it wash over me. 

We turned the corner near the sports club and I started to mourn that there wouldn’t be enough time to get to everything; there never will be, I’m guessing. We parked outside the apartment and held hands, staring out at the road, savoring our last threads and sharing this feeling of anticipatory girlhood that I suspect never quite goes away, at least not until your parents die, and then you’re really a woman. We’re always in puberty, we concluded, and then we said I love you and goodnight and I came into the house. 

I let Ethan and Elvira tuck me into bed on their couch with a burrito for a nightcap. I fell asleep before Elvira finished her crossword… piles of used limes on the table, Ethan at his desk charging my brick before my flight, air thick and heavy from an evening spent detangling his hair. They finished my laundry for me with the lights low.

This morning I went for a walk before anyone else woke up. Elvira washed four apples for me and kept the stickers for her notebook. While I folded my clothes, she sat on the couch, carefully rubbing remnant adhesive from each fruit, and now I’m eating one on the plane to DC. 

Tomorrow I will decorate a cake, and then I will eat pork shoulder braised in fruit with my friends. Monday morning I have flight back to California, but that is Sunday’s problem.