justin bieber is chirping from a piano bench outside my window.
let it be said, i am not in cleveland anymore. yesterday, i hopped a plane to new york city, sat next to the most beautiful girl- landing at la guardia in chris's warm bear hug (and the front seat of his mazda) shortly after 6pm. we drove home, made peanut butter, mushroom, and sprout sandwiches, and stayed out much too late at two very different bars on the lower east side.
this morning i slept in (for me, anyway, which means i slept till 8 30) and went for a walk through the neighborhood before buying a paper cup of earl grey to tote back to the apartment. i spent my day biking. i ate a lot of peanut butter and (in spite of my eating-disordered anxiety over this) a lot of bread, and went for a 30 minute run up and down some side streets in bushwick before packing a bag full of food and heading to times square for a very privileged version of new york's new year's eve bash.
chris and i are watching the party most of the country watches on television from the windows of his office. we've perched a telescope in front of the radiator and have a magnified view, when we want it, of the main stage- i think i've stared, now, at ryan seacrest's back? we're warm, we have bathroom access, and we made- of course- peanut butter and vegetable sandwiches for supper.
i am a lucky girl. sometimes. not all the time. i've certainly had my share of shit, but i suppose that somehow, the highs have matched the lows. my life is not boring. i hate when it's bad, but i hate it more when it's hum-drum; a few nights ago, i spent hours sobbing on my bedroom floor, and now i am sipping tea on the sixteenth floor of a times square office building on december 31st. some bad, some good. no boring.
well, i'll be.