I am...a New Yorker

[Previous entry: "That Girl"]

Tuesday, January 7, 2003
Cold and Alone

What alphabet my predecessor used to set up the filing "system." Shame on a Jewish girl who can't spell "Holocast" [SIC].

My annual read of The Bell Jar. Yeah, I know, but it actually makes me strangely optimistic.

A light coating of snow on bushes and gates this morning. It was as though the city had been sprinkled delicately with powdered sugar.

Not the elevators at my place. Two are hardly enough for 300 people on 16 floors, and we've been down to one since Friday morning. I don't miss trying to get out of the building after 8, with maids stopping on every floor (I really don't get the whole maid service thing and decline it myself).

That Pam Grier prison movie, but falling asleep before the shower scene, alas. I turned on the director's commentary and you'd think he was talking about some Shakespearean adaptation. Priceless!

At home last night, probably something I've made at R's tonight. I swear, they are drugging us at my place, I become a stone-cold zombie the minute I eat there.

I am...not big on the waking up in the morning thing. Never have been. It's shameful. Of course, I'm waking up repeatedly throughout the night, so it's no wonder I feel so shaken, out of sorts and tired in the morning.

R's pull out isn't exactly blissful, either, I think I'll tuck it in tonight (I left it out this morning because I was far too late) and sleep on the sofa. The sofa is like a nest, I can't stretch out as much, but I feel enveloped in warmth and softness.

It was something to awaken with the kitty at my feet, I must say. Other than cooking and privacy, one of the reasons I'm really yearning for a place of my own is so I can have a cat. I never would've guessed I was a cat person, never having had one before. Friends cats, except for R's, ironically, tend to gravitate toward me and my little brother's cat would only come to me when I lived there.

: : :

The title, "Cold and Alone" refers to how I woke up. Yes, there are other people in R's building, but I've a relatively large apartment around me and so it didn't feel others around me. At my place, I swear I can hear the woman in the next room breath. I've been meaning to move my bed to the opposite wall, because that's no exaggeration. The woman who lived there before chanted, so I was practically Buddhist myself.

: : :

Ironically, I have not yet cooked. R left me some food money, because two weeks of racing between his place to feed the cat and mine to feed me is ridiculous. It's about half of what I'd need for nearly two weeks (like most New Yorkers, R doesn't eat much at home, so there aren't even a lot of staples), so I'm still going home a few nights a week.

Tonight I have no other errands or appointments, so I will stop at Food Emporium or Gristede's and figure out what I'd like to make, perhaps the lasagne. I've always cooked too much food (oh, how I hate recipes for one) and so those around me reap the benefits.

Cooking is one of my favorite forms of creative expression, one I don't have access to much anymore, and so I look forward to flexing that muscle over the coming week. But it's also fun to order in, watch DVDs and be a bum, especially on a cold, January night.

[Next entry: "Seeing Ghosts"]
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