Writer

When I was approaching my teenage years, my family got a dog. We all put our names into a hat to decide who would get the esteemed job of naming our baby black fluff ball (she was a Peki-Pom back before designer breeds became all the rage). My kid sister, abnormally obsessed with Victor Hugo's Les Miserables at such a young age, won the round and christened our new pet with the name Cosette. It wasn't long before we shortened it to Cozy, which was much more apropos for our four legged little buddy.

And she said what she often said,
Keep Passing The Open Windows,
which is a line from one of their favorite books.
But instead of quoting something back, something like
Sorrow Floats,
which would have been fitting and a standard response between them,
The Sister let the worry creep in and said
(or yelled, it was unclear if she was talking in a normal, exasperated voice, or a slightly louder, more forceful voice)
Sister, take off the heavy boots.
Take off your heavy boots and go to bed barefoot tonight.

When my roommate is out of town, I find myself in a weird state.
A state called Poverty of Words, and instead of being alarmed, I feel at home
I am used to conversing, saying words out loud, but sometimes I cannot grasp the words long enough to reproduce them.
Home is here, now, but yesterday it was somewhere else. Somewhere not here, not home.
I don't drink coffee, but I can still fall in love in a coffee shop,
even if it is just the hot chocolate making me feel that way.

In between the land of joy and the land of sadness is a bay of guilt. And if you are dancing on the shores of happiness, you may only notice those smiling faces dancing around you. But it takes only a glance across the water to see someone you know sitting or sleeping on the banks of sadness. Step into the water to get a closer look, take note of the others on the sand, some of them strangers and some of them loved ones, weeping. Or loved ones looking forlornly across the bay, estimating the distance between you and them.

And the girl looked at the boy and she confessed to him.
I should tell you.
I should tell you that I'm hard. I am not saying that I am hard on the inside, but I am hard everywhere else so I might as well be hard on the inside.
And the boy looked at the girl and laughed.
Who cares.
And the girl rolled over and said
I am sick of people getting mad at me.
I will not get mad at you.
That's what they always say.
Get over yourself.

And when you are riding your bike down 6th Ave, and you pass a woman crying, think about stopping. This young, distraught woman whose loveliness is stifled by despair might need you. But remember, she is not your friend. You can console her, hug her, maybe, but don't kiss her forehead and refrain from massaging. Listen, of course listen, but proffered advice is not always welcome. You can't just say, “Perhaps it's time to cut out all films dealing with cancer.” For that matter, why go see any movie with death in it? Or pain inflicted on animals. Or anything to do with addiction.

In the last week, I have come across the word “ubiquitous” within the first few chapters of three different books. I think the word “ubiquitous” has become ubiquitous.
Crissy Powers, my bike, is too heavy to carry up and down three flights of stairs every day. However, when there is a large pile of vomitus disgustus marinating outside the elevator, it is amazing how light she becomes.

Dear Feminine Half of the Cutest Couple in all of Manhattan, Thanks for welcoming me to your city. Your home. I know some people think peer pressure is something that no longer concerns us past the age of 17, but you have proved that wrong. Exhibit: Lacy.
You are surrounded by friends that adore you, but sometimes I feel like they do not even know how much you deserve to be adored. But I do. And I love you.

And so last night I went to see Bon Iver live at the Prospect Park Bandshell, which is an incredible outdoor venue inside an incredibly beautiful park in Brooklyn. And while everyone stood around me, swaying and clapping and even dancing (and oh how cute they are, those two, my friends, the ones dancing with hands clasped and eyes closed, almost old-fashioned the way they move, and really they are the best looking couple in all of New York City, especially because they are quite lovely people on the inside, too) I stayed on the ground.

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