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.

Hawaii Toast Song

Discovered this via Bee-Spot and Europopped.

It is Alexander Marcus and it is Hawaii Toast.

I don't know who the hell he is, and I don't know what the fuck Hawaii Toast is.

The only thing left to say is: You're Welcome.

How Not To Pick Me Up in a Bar

If you're trying to hook up with me, don't admit you're doing so because you're essentially blind.

Scene: Sidetrack Sunday night. Stopped in to meet a friend for a drink. We're talking and he excuses himself to use the restroom. A guy standing next to us moves in and and starts talking to me.

Him: "How's it going?"
Me: "Good, thanks. You?"
Him: "Good. But I'm drunk. My friends and I have been drinking all day."
Me: "Hmm. Sounds fun."
Him: "Yeah, so drunk! I can't even see straight!"

And... SCENE.
At this point I excused myself and walked away.
I mean, really. Granted, I'm not in the market for a hook-up; and even if I was, I don't expect it to be meaningful (this is Sidetrack, after all), but c'mon even I have some kind of standard. I would hope the guy would be able to distinguish between me and some blob standing against a wall.

I'm Not Dead...

... just in school hell. Which sucks.

In the meantime, I've joined Diaspora.

Recurring Dream

I have a recurring dream in which I'm always late getting somewhere important. The setting and scene is always different, but each time, I'm in a situation in which I'm trying to get somewhere, and for various reasons I just can't get there.

It causes a lot of anxiety for me, and I wake from it feeling stressed and anxious. I had one of those dreams this morning. I was in Chicago (I think) and it was snowing. I was rushing to get somewhere - where I don't exactly know, but it might have been a party or something like that. The snow was slippery, making it hard to walk. But the worst part is that I was weighed down by my Pharmacology textbook.

In real life, this bastard is big and heavy. When I stuff it into my backpack, it is pretty much the only thing that will fit. It is a bitch. And in my dream, it was so heavy I just couldn't get to my destination. I remember cursing and wondering why the fuck I needed to pack it with me.

Some might say that this dream clearly shows my reluctance towards school, and how I feel it is keeping me from living my life or preventing me from doing fun things. Or something like that. Although it prolly isn't an accident that I had this dream during Spring Break, where I spent 6 hours at the Library while it seems most everyone else is... well, not at the Library.

The Saddest Question I've Ever Uttered

"What are your hours during Spring Break?"
- me to the Lau Library front desk this morning.

Sigh.

So Spring Break begins today in about 2 hours, right after my Med-Surg class. I'll be staying here, using the time to catch up on schoolwork and relax a little. Try not to be jealous. It's not going to be all boring, though. I plan to get sufficiently knockered one or twice as well.

In an ideal world, I'll hit the books a few hours a day so that by next Sunday I am completely on top - or maybe even ahead - of my studies as we move into the last half of the semester. Although the more likely result will be that I sit around and don't get shit done.

I do wish I were heading back to Chicago for at least a few days, but it is probably best that I stay here.

Portland in a month, though, which will be sweet.