Saturday in the Park


What I’ll miss: Central Park
I love that I’ve covered a fair amount of the park. I love that so much of the park is left to discover. It waits for me to return, in the dead of winter, as spring unfolds, as summer stretches, as the trees become drowsy and start losing their lashy leaves, hues bleeding to brown. I don’t know if I’ve ever outright professed my love for Central Park, but here it is. Operas/concerts/picnics/races/Shakespeare in the Park. Ice skating; strolls with friends; walks and talks and softball and photographs. I walked its perimeter my first Saturday in the city: 7 miles, by myself, and a blizzard came through only two days before. I caught a horrible cold. I caught another bug, too, almost seven years ago. I haven’t been able to get rid of it, but I know that I won’t want to.

What I won’t miss: The south end of Central Park
I don’t like where the horse carriages congregate. Especially during the summer. If you’ve been there, you’ll know why. If you haven’t been there, you can figure it out.

Contained Chaos

I don’t know how many thoughts are bouncing around in my brain.

This morning I thought about an old crush and hearing his voice and the last time I’ll probably speak to him. He and I could always talk easily to each other. We’d harmlessly flirt but more enjoyed bantering. Our friendship always prevailed over any romantic feelings I had for him, even though I’ll get fleetingly furious about it still, I will truly miss him.

I thought about how many people would notice my crying on the subway this morning.

I thought about the time I told a friend who moved from the city that her moving was really good for me. She asked how, and I said it caused me to step up in a lot of ways. I attended church with her quite a few times when I wasn’t feeling particularly LDS. Her moving allowed me to confront my codependent tendencies; to reconsider my priorities. It brought to light how drawn I am to broken people. I don’t mean that in a bad way. I mean, I guess we’re all broken to some degree. And like anyone else, it’s good to be around people I can relate to.

I took my drill back home this morning. I thought about taking apart my bed: when to do it, whether I should sell it or store it or take it with me.

I thought about what Becky’s wedding dress is going to look like.

A former roommate is staying the week with us.  As she headed toward the door to leave, she stopped in the entryway and I poked my head out of the bedroom. She told me she loved me, and that it was good to see me, then she closed the door behind her, and maybe I cried a little bit.

I thought once I could cry until I ran out of tears.

I can’t run out of tears.