Spring = rebirth

Last May, I was "going through some things," as we like to say in the San Francisco chapter of the Meat Club. And like any good emo-hipster-wanna-be, I was spending time at coffee shops, head buried in my Mac, realizing that, "Wow, someone else has gone through this before and wrote a song about it! Rad."

Nico, Fairest of the Seasons

Now that it's time

Now that the hour has landed at the end

Now that it's real

Now that the dreams have given all they had to lend

I want to know do I stay or do I go

And maybe try another time

And do I really have a hand in my forgetting?

I fought it, but the grad school loan-holding part of me started accepting that the right doors weren't opening for me in this city, and that I needed to suck it up and either move home to Chicago or back to DC. Thank God even that side of me is a procrastinator, and that I have the best friends and family in the world who took me in, fed me, consoled me--basically burped me and wiped my ass for me--for the past few months. After some time, I got back on my feet and I am officially back in commission.

I just cooked my first meal in the tiny kitchen of my apartment. So the floors slope a little, and the stove is from 1921--no big deal. I can walk around naked and sing to Alanis Morissette on the top of my lungs. Jagged Little Pill. Win-win for everyone. Don't worry, my blinds are shut so that I don't offend the neighbors.

Now with the weather warming up, I'm probably going to look out the windows of my office longingly towards Dolores Park, and reminisce about all of those beautiful days in the sun. But I'll also keep in mind that while I was daydreaming in the park, I longingly remembered days that I had money in the checking account.