Marrying Me

A few days after my ex-girlfriend broke up with me, I got engaged. I bought a ring: it's multi-colored and silver, and it was made in Nepal. I bought it for $13.50, plus tax, at the First United Methodist Church of Germantown bazaar (whose out lesbian pastor was recently defrocked).

I wrote out a whole series of commitments I was willing to make -- to myself. I decided to marry me.

This was not my idea. The first person I ever knew to marry herself was the best friend of my ex's. She had a ceremony and vows, and when I heard about it, I thought it was a great idea. What better way of expressing your love for yourself?

Except that I'm not ready to walk down the aisle yet. I didn't want to jump into anything too quickly. So I'm having a long engagement.

I've given up my dream of being in the New York Times Style section with my (currently non-existent) beau. It really wasn't so much of a dream as another achievement to tick off of some list in my head. But the list wasn't my own, so I've been trying to get rid of it, one by one.

The engagement's been a rocky road: I'm not the easiest person in the world to have a relationship with. I steal all of the covers. I sleep diagonally. I take long showers. I often leave my shoes in the middle of the floor, or don't do my laundry for a couple of weeks. I sometimes get grumpy, and can't figure out quite what to do to un-grump. I take a long time to make decisions. I am a perfectionist. I need time alone to check in with myself and re-connect. I have a hard time asking for what I need, though I am getting better at it.

But I make up funny songs, and poems, and like to draw and write, and be outside. I like to smile, and laugh. I bake great chocolate chip cookies and brownies, and make delicious hot fudge. I am well-read. I'm passionate about politics. I try new things and places. I care about being a better person, and knowing myself better. I like being connected to the world around me. I have a long list of things that I want to try or learn, and I don't ever plan to be bored. I am affectionate. I like touch. On my best days, I am gentle, and sweet, and caring. I am learning to take good care of myself.

I'm taking it slowly, and when the time comes, I'll get married on the beach, in shorts and flip-flops, to myself. I might have a couple of guests, and maybe we'll drink champagne or dance under the stars. Or maybe, I'll just smile to myself, happy to be my own best friend, happy to know the big secret: that I'm the only one who can make me whole.

When things could be different

It's late, and I'm awake, and I'm wishing right now that things were different than they are. I'm sad about the end of my relationship. I wish that I could write something funny or witty or even relevant to your life right now. About the bar exam, or my travels up and down the East Coast. I've seen lots of things that would be fun to write about. But I can't do that tonight.

Tonight, I can only say that break-ups are hard, and complicated, and that I am profoundly sad about the end of my relationship in the deepest parts of me.

Summer Sky

The moon led me home tonight. I was driving back from the mall, having bought a birthday present for my niece, who turned 8 today. I was on the Schulykill Expressway when I looked up, and there she was, in front of me, hanging in the sky, just about whole, and orangey white. She played hide-and-seek for awhile as I made the 20-minute drive, disappearing behind clouds. But then she reappeared, covered in just the finest layer of fog, like an almost-sheer evening gown. Always the host, she took me to my doorstep, and waited until I was safely inside, before disappearing again, and saying good night.

When You Gotta Go

Like most people, I'm a fan of clean public bathrooms. And these days, I'm often wandering around Philadelphia, without a home base to pee from.

So when I have to go, it's helpful to have a sense of the city's restrooms. For example, the ones at Borders (Broad and Chestnut) and Barnes & Noble (across from Rittenhouse Square), while easily accessible, are just plain gross, but good in a pinch.

But my favorite are the restrooms at the Sofitel, the swank hotel on 17th and Sansom. They're on the second floor, tucked away, and are clean and luxurious. By clean, I mean, well, CLEAN. And by luxurious, I mean that each individual stall is like its own little room: fully enclosed, four walls, with floor-to-ceiling wooden doors with gold doorknobs. And they have those fluffy paper towels that are paper but feel more like cloth. Lastly, they're generally pretty empty, which is nice for when you need a, umm, private moment.

In any case, it's nice to have a home base in a pinch. And, you can enter the hotel on the side (Sansom Street) so you don't have to walk by the knowing glances of the front desk staff, though I have entered through the front, too, on 17th Street, and they're friendly even to non-tourist-non-conventioneer-non-button-down-business-looking-folks like me.

The Life of a Sloth

I think my brain is wilting. I imagine it might be as my peace lillies were when I got home from my last trip, sort of droopy and a little bit brown, and very thirsty. That's how my brain feels, three weeks after the bar exam began. I've been traveling a lot, and until yesterday morning, have barely been home. I haven't unpacked from my trip to Naples (Florida, not Italy) and am only just about un-hung-over from Saturday night's monster post-bar-exam bash. The time off -- about 5 weeks from the end of the bar exam until I begin my job -- is flying by, too fast, too blurry and I just want it to last, for it not to end, to keep having fun and being outside and traveling and seeing a lot of the people I love to see.

I feel clunky writing again, after time away, clumsy as I type. And yet I know that it's one of the primary ways that I remain connected to myself and the world around me, and that it will feel good to get back into the groove. No writing = bad sign. This happens periodically, I know... I stop writing for one reason or another (in this case, bar exam and post-bar-travel) and then the writing thoughts just build up in my brain, piled higher and higher and higher, alongside the unreturned emails or phone calls or mail, until it's just about ready to trickle out, dribbling out of my head onto the page. The trickle turns stronger, then soon a gush, and well, here I am. Good to see you again.

After Bar

I'm headed out of town to visit my college roommate for a few days in upstate New York. I'll update when I get back, at the end of the week, with full details of the bar 'xam. Lots to write and think about.