Flitting About the Windy City
That's what I'm doing. Thursday morning I boarded a plane for Chicago. I left behind in Austin two children, one husband, one house, one dog, two contract jobs, and a list of things to do attached to all those people/animal/things that is longer than my hair. At the top of my list is getting a haircut, but who has the time?
I brought with me one small suitcase, my laptop, my cell-phone, my camera, two copies of the New York Review of Books, two collections of short stories, and one novel. I am only halfway into the trip and I have already finished the novel (Rosie, by Annie Lamott - You must read it – perhaps I’ll do a review for Home Dipu Reviews). And I’m halfway into the first collection of shorts (the Summer 2007 issue of Glimmer Train). All this reading makes me very, very happy.
I left in Austin my tendency to worry, my need to make a plan, my instinct to look an hour into the future in anticipation of my children’s needs. Diapers, wipes, play-doh, sippee cups, facial features that belong to Mr. Potato Head: all left behind in Texas.
I brought with me my love for maps and my sense of spontaneity, my lingering, lazy side, and the twelve year-old girl, the cackling juvenile adolescent who laughs at farts and people falling down. She lives deep inside me but occasionally surfaces when I spend time with certain girlfriends. Girlfriends like Lisa who is here with me now in Chicago. Here we are having one of our juvenile girlie moments. 
And here I am being happy in general. Happy that we're in a city we can walk in; happy that the weather is great; happy that I can still read a map, and that we're not lost; happy that I just walked by a Picasso sculpture; happy that my kids are safe at home and really are fine without me; happy that I just had two glasses of wine in the middle of the afternoon; happy that I haven't changed a diaper or been whined at in 36 hours; happy that even though I desperately need a haircut, no one in this city gives a flying fuck, including me. And happy most of all that after months of missing her desperately, I have my closest girlfriend in the whole wide world all to myself in a freaking fabulous city.
Happy.
I brought with me one small suitcase, my laptop, my cell-phone, my camera, two copies of the New York Review of Books, two collections of short stories, and one novel. I am only halfway into the trip and I have already finished the novel (Rosie, by Annie Lamott - You must read it – perhaps I’ll do a review for Home Dipu Reviews). And I’m halfway into the first collection of shorts (the Summer 2007 issue of Glimmer Train). All this reading makes me very, very happy.
I left in Austin my tendency to worry, my need to make a plan, my instinct to look an hour into the future in anticipation of my children’s needs. Diapers, wipes, play-doh, sippee cups, facial features that belong to Mr. Potato Head: all left behind in Texas.
I brought with me my love for maps and my sense of spontaneity, my lingering, lazy side, and the twelve year-old girl, the cackling juvenile adolescent who laughs at farts and people falling down. She lives deep inside me but occasionally surfaces when I spend time with certain girlfriends. Girlfriends like Lisa who is here with me now in Chicago. Here we are having one of our juvenile girlie moments. 
And here I am being happy in general. Happy that we're in a city we can walk in; happy that the weather is great; happy that I can still read a map, and that we're not lost; happy that I just walked by a Picasso sculpture; happy that my kids are safe at home and really are fine without me; happy that I just had two glasses of wine in the middle of the afternoon; happy that I haven't changed a diaper or been whined at in 36 hours; happy that even though I desperately need a haircut, no one in this city gives a flying fuck, including me. And happy most of all that after months of missing her desperately, I have my closest girlfriend in the whole wide world all to myself in a freaking fabulous city. Happy.
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HAVE A BLAST!