Something made me look back at the apartments I considered to see what rents look like now.
You know I hate that word, obsessed. But I didn’t know how to give this post a catchy, make-you-want-to-read-it title without including obsession.
And it’s not an addiction like the TV show. I will never ever eat the stuffing of a couch cushion–promise.
My weird thing to do is this: when I see a tiny sink in a New York City restaurant, I take a picture, often with my free hand in the pic for scale.
“I’m so sorry to disturb you,” I said to the woman next to me.
“It’s ok. I wasn’t sleeping, I was just dreaming,” she replied as I stood to slip past her on the Philadelphia-bound train to visit Dad in the hospital.
I smiled. Across the aisle*, her elderly husband was full-on asleep, arms crossed and head bowed. He was older than his wife who had taken the lead in finding seats and then in ensuring his comfort.
Looking at them as a couple, I thought of my mother, fit and strong and ten years younger than my father. Growing up, I never thought of their age difference as a big deal. Now, Dad’s age and health conditions are yielding a lot of heartache.
I’m trying not to equate love with pain and loss. But right now, it’s so very hard. Someday everyone I love will be gone. I too will leave this earth someday. And because I don’t have the crutch of believing in heaven, these feelings are a heavy burden.
Dad’s condition is stable now, but eight days into this hospital stay, we have no sense of when he might be ready to go home. No independence for Dad this July 4th.
I usually spend Independence Day with a family group in Rehoboth Beach. This year, there was an issue with the house we stay at so even if Dad were healthy, we were not going to be able to spend the holiday there together as is our tradition. Continue reading
Recently I have been under an unusually high level of stress. Obviously.
The morning after Arte Agave, I woke up not hungover, but sore.
I don’t know about you, but Spring is making me Spend. Here is where my money is going right now.
These Marc by Marc Jacobs sandals.
High, but not too high. For me, the ankle strap is important for comfort. I booked a fresh pedicure appointment right after they arrived in the mail. Gotta be ready.
Staci and I met in new employee orientation. She was about to start work as a marketing assistant for the magazine. I would be the newest advertising sales assistant, joining a team of twelve. In the beginning, I envied Staci–the other women (and they were all women) in my position were a few years older than me and I found their existing friendships intimidating.
Plus I looked goofy like this:
Staci and I were the low women on the totem pole, just weeks removed from college graduation.