Nats Win Weanamin

Saturday night Emily took me to the Nats game. First time at the new park in the year I've been back. We scored sweet seats and had a good time, catching up on each other's lives over the last month, drinking summer shandys. The Nats won.

It was my first Saturday night back in town, and it was the perfect way to ease into the new (and last, praise baby Jesus) school year. Of which I am petrified. But anyways...

Chicago Love Letter

[The view from Rebar in the Trump Tower, during drinks with my friend Mark, 8/16/10.]

I haven't blogged about my time back in Chicago these last few weeks because 1) I haven't been blogging much, period; 2) I've been busy doing other things; 3) it's been kinda strange/difficult to put the last few weeks into words.

Where can I start, really? I miss this place. Lots. I've developed schemes and thought about ways to get out of my contract in December and just move back here, working as a nurse at Northwestern (which I think would be a dream job), getting a place (a lot cheaper than in DC), finding a cute dirty hipster boy (of whom there are plenty here) and settling down.

I miss my family.
I miss my friends (most of whom I didn't see as much as I wanted, or even at all).
I miss the neighborhoods.
I miss the Lake.

Wicker Park, Filter, Lakeview, Intelligentsia, Logan Square, the El, Michigan Ave., Danny's, Division, Swim Cafe, Penelope's, Untitled, Reckless Records, the Art Institute....

It was a good break. Not awesome - some things (OK, one thing in particular) could have gone better - but still good. As I drove out of the city Friday at 5:30 in the morning, heading south on the Dan Ryan with the skyline in my rearview mirror and the sun starting it's ascent into the pink sky August sky, I felt a bit battered, a bit wounded, and a bit sad. I thought about how it seems that everyone's lives were moving forward - relationships were starting, or ending, or moving forward; job promotions were made; babies were born and kids were getting older; marriages; divorces; - and my life still seemed to be on hold. I know it isn't true, but that's certainly how it feels some times.

As I started the long drive back to DC, I wish I could say that I was looking forward to this last semester of school and being back in DC, but I just couldn't muster the energy. The truth is, this last semester is going to be really tough and I'm more than a little nervous about it, considering how the previous three semesters really kicked my ass.

Coming back to Chicago was a shot in the arm - I needed to be around people who would comfort me and encourage me and help remind me that I was making good choices and that everything was going to be alright.

Pictures In My Head

I took you to the airport, helped you get your bags out of the car. I hugged you goodbye, telling you: Be Good. And also: Take Care of Yourself.

I turned around, got into the car, drove away, and didn't look back. And it was one of the hardest fucking things I've ever done in my life -- not holding you longer, not getting one last look at you, not kissing you goodbye. Because this was likely the last time I will ever lay eyes on you. Because the chances are good that I will never see you again.

Holy fucking shit - I May Never See You Again.

My heart is broken by the thought. Part of me wants to, of course, because you meant everything to me. I'd convinced myself that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with only you. But I need to let go, in the same way you have.

I got back to my brother's place, where he got me to sit down to dinner with him and his friends, filling my plate with food, trying to get me to focus on the present, and not the awfulness of these last 24 hours. He didn't say anything, he just reached over and put his hand on my shoulder. And that broke my heart a little more.

There's a Matt Nathanson song I love, called "I Saw" with a line that I've sung countless times but never really understood until today: "And I'll forget about you long enough to forget why I need to." And understanding what it means breaks my heart a little, too.

I've taken down the framed photo of you from my mantle. I've un-Skyped you. I've trashed every e-mail you've sent me since we first met. I've promised myself not to call you, not to text you. When I'm lonely at 2 am on a Saturday night I won't stalk your Facebook page, looking through your photos. I won't lay there, wishing I was there with you. I won't wonder if you wish you were here with me. I won't. I. Won't.

I don't want this for myself. And I don't want it for you, either. I just want to move on.