City Wendy

Happy Summer Solstice!

This is one of my favorite days of the year, when the promise of long, lazy summer months still lay ahead like miles of country road. These days, summer feels a little less lazy than it did in my formative years, and definitely more sober than in recent memory, and for the first time since I rediscovered biking about eight years ago, I'll be staying off my wheels this season (not worth the risk of falling, sadly), but I'll still be making room for some old — and new — favorite things. In no particular order, here's some of what I'm looking forward to this summer:

* Tending to the little urban garden I'm growing on my porch (this is the first time I've planted flower boxes and such, and the added color really gives me a boost when I sit out there and watch the summer sun rise and fall over Brooklyn.)

* Picnics with Drew and friends in Prospect Park.

* Decorating the nursery.

* Visiting family and friends in Chicago and St. Louis next month.

* Road tripping upstate with friends for a country wedding.

* Not sucking in my belly at the beach.

* Baking some pies.

* Quiet mornings on the porch with the cats.

* Feeling Baby kick (he's kicking more and more).

* Concerts in the park.

* Coney Island.

* Stolen sips of prosecco.

* Hearing about Drew's driving lessons.

* Walks through the Brooklyn Botanic Garden.

* Scoring deals at stoop sales.

* Watching the new season of "Breaking Bad."

* Bird-watching from the back porch (are you noticing a trend?)

And speaking of the back porch, here I am out there on Sunday. I'm 22 weeks pregnant here and just barely starting to show:

Hope you all have a lovely summer solstice and are able to cross off a few things from your own list of summer favorites.

Avoid Dr. Moktan, Endocrinologist in Brooklyn, At All Costs

In case anyone Googles Dr. Moktan, an endocrinologist in Brooklyn, wondering if he or she should schedule an appointment with her, or with one of her partners, Dr. Kahn or Dr. Sirvastaza, I hope THIS review, which I've posted on Yelp and every site I can find that accepts reviews for Dr. Moktan, answers that question effectively:

Dealing with Dr. Moktan and her office at Methodist in Park Slope was an absolute nightmare. I waited almost TWO HOURS after my scheduled appointment time to finally see her, and then I had to wait an additional half hour to get my blood drawn because the nurse on duty decided to take an unscheduled McDonalds break. The very worst part, though, was that Dr. Moktan would not return my phone calls and repeated inquiries for my test results.

Dr. Moktan told me to call the Monday following my appointment to get my results, which I thought was a little odd, since it's always been my experience in the past that doctors are the ones to call patients when the results come in. I wouldn't have minded tracking her down if she actually called me back, but she didn't. I called about six or seven times over the course of four days, waiting an average of 15 minutes each time just to be put to her VOICE MAIL, and she didn't have the common decency to pick up the phone, give me a diagnosis and write me a prescription. This is especially bad because I'm five months pregnant and time is of the essence. If I need a specific medication (which it turns out I DID), I shouldn't be going without it for weeks on end while a doctor I paid good money to to treat me does God knows what while I try in vain to get a measly five-minute phone call out of her.

And don't even get me started on the receptionists who work the front desk of her office. Hands down, they are the laziest, most unprofessional "customer service" people I've ever come across in a medical office. Dr. Moktan works in an office with two other endocrinologists: Dr. Kahn and Dr. Sirvastaza, and while I cannot speak to their response time or skills as doctors, I would advise anyone against visiting their shared office. The other people I spoke with in the waiting room — the room I waited in for over two hours — confirmed that the long waits and unprofessional attitude and behavior in the office is par for the course across the board.

I WAS finally able to track down my test results, thankfully, but it took being hung up on numerous times by the receptionists, being told that I "should find a new doctor" (which, you better believe I will!), and having two midwives at my OBGYN clinic make numerous calls on my behalf to Dr. Moktan's office and to her office manager before I got a response. I was diagnosed with something I needed immediate medication for, so I'm grateful Dr. Moktan finally got around to returning one of the 30 or 40 calls placed to her office, but I am beyond appalled by the measures it took to receive that 2-minute call in the first place.

Please save yourself a lot of time and grief and avoid this doctor and her horrific office at all costs. I have never experienced such a lack of professionalism, human decency and compassion in a medical office in my whole life.

It's a...

Boy! I'm growing a baby boy in mah belly.

Home in the Summer

I made my first call about day care yesterday and, boy, was that weird. I mean, the call itself was fine. But just saying those words: "Hi, I'm doing day care research for my baby due in October. Do you accept infants?" was totally weird. My tentative plan right now is to drop the baby off at a day care place in the neighborhood about three mornings a week so I can have a little time to keep up with Dear Wendy and various other writing and editing projects. I hope to start this when the baby is around 3-6 months old, and I was told that if that's my plan, I need to get on waiting lists for day care now. As it turns out, I probably should have gotten on waiting lists about six months ago.

The lady on the other end of the line was nice enough. She explained that she accepts babies as young as three months old, but that she wouldn't have an opening for an infant until next summer. I guess at that point I should have asked some more questions, like if she's open to flexible scheduling and what are her prices and how many kids does she watch and can I come take a look at her place (it's just right around the corner!), but this parenting thing is so foreign and strange that I felt like I was playing pretend ... or, like, making a prank call or something, so I just stammered, "UhOkayThanksBye" real fast and hung up.

I used to do that a lot in college — make prank calls, I mean — back when I lived in the dorms and you only had to dial the last four digits of any phone number to reach someone else on campus. I'd never prank, you know, an adult with real responsibilities and stuff, but prank calling other college kids was always a good time. I thought of it as performance art, and it was just one of many of my "art projects." I also used to scream "announcements" at the top of my lungs out the window, like weather reports and updates on available parking spaces. And when I was a freshman, I'd drag a chair into the dorm elevator and sit there for an hour or so and "take notes" as people got on and off the elevator. If anyone ever asked what I was doing — and surprisingly few people did (I can't imagine why they wouldn't want to engage me in conversation) — I'd tell them I was working on an assignment for psych class. I did learn a lot about human behavior through these various ... activities.

This time of year always makes me think of college. Well, this time of year and the height of fall, when the leaves are all changing color and you can almost smell the scent of school books in the air. But my college town was always best in the summer, and I loved nothing more than sticking around when the campus cleared out and three quarters of the students went back home for summer jobs or internships and chillin' with their high school buddies. For me, home was right where I was from May to September. Those of us who stayed in town owned that place. We knew it the way the other students never would — the long drives out in the country with the windows down and the music blaring; hours spent in the best seat of the coffee shop, sipping bottomless cups of joe and reading books right off the shelf; sneaking into the campus fountain late at night for a quick swim under the stars; the way the air smelled at dusk in July. It was home.

Summer in Brooklyn is pretty good, too. I've only had a small taste of it so far — last summer, I was too new to really settle in — but I like it here. It feels like where I belong. But I'm 34 now and on the verge of parenthood and summer will never be like it was when I was 20. Sometimes I have moments that feel similar, and when I do, I'm reminded that I'm still the same person. I have all these adult responsibilities now and this transition period between being ME and being a MOM is a little unnerving, but I'll always be the same person, right? This is the question I ponder a lot lately. I think I know the answer, but like a lot of things, I imagine it's something you don't know for sure until you're in it. And I'll be in it soon enough.

I Saw London, I Saw France

Hey, everyone, I'm back from vacation! I/we had a wonderful time in London and Paris, but it feels good to be home. I arrived in London after an overnight flight from NYC in the wee hours of Thursday, April 28th. Drew had been there a week already doing pre-coverage of the royal wedding, which was on Friday the 29th. I had every intention of finding some place cool to watch the wedding — along the processional route, Hyde Park, even a pub somewhere with lots of locals — but jetlag and allergies got the best of me and I was too ravaged from sleep deprivation to drag myself out of my hotel room. Just as well, I guess, since I have to pee every five minutes these days.

A little bit after the wedding, I did get myself together enough to head down to the Piccadilly Circus area where there were still tons of revelers roaming about. I saw lots of fancy hats and fascinators, quite a few William and Kate impersonators, and countless Union Jack flags. There was a definite buzz in the air and it was fun to be part of the festivities in at least that small way.

Drew wrapped up with work the next afternoon and we spent another eight days in London, joined for half of them by my parents, who flew up from Germany to celebrate my mom's 60th birthday. My mom is really big into birthdays and I haven't celebrated hers with her since 1994, so one of my favorite memories of our time in London was the evening of her birthday as we were sitting in the theater in the West End watching "Million Dollar Quartet" (where Drew and I were the youngest audience members by 15 years, easy), and I looked over at my mom at one point and she had this great big smile on her face and was clapping her hands to the music and in that moment, it was like she didn't have a care in the world. It reminded me of Drew at his 40th birthday party last year and how happy he was to be surrounded by all these friends celebrating him. It's a good thing, seeing a loved one happy.

Anyway, we all had a nice time in London, but on Sunday the 8th, we said our good-byes and my parents headed back to Germany and Drew and I trained it to Paris.

Paris!

I hadn't been to Paris since I was 16, and that was on a family trip, which, let's be honest, isn't the best way to see the city of lights. No, the best way to see Paris is with the person you're in love with, which is exactly how I got to do it this time, and let me tell you, Paris did not disappoint. If I could have stayed there another month, I would have. And I never feel that way about places I visit. I love traveling, but a few days in one place is usually enough for me, no matter how cool it is. But, Paris... I think I was meant for life in Paris.

We didn't even really do anything there except spend four fabulous days wandering around and around, eating tons of bread and chocolate, people-watching, practicing basic French phrases (Où sont les toilettes?). We did climb up (a little ways) of the Eiffel Tower (that's where we are in the picture on top), and we went to the d'Orsay museum, and we hit the famous Les Puces flea market. Our hotel was only a few blocks from the Seine, so we walked along the banks quite a bit, and had a picnic dinner on a bridge at sunset. One night, we splurged and had a really fancy dinner at this place it's tres difficult to get reservations (but we have connections, yo ;)). My favorite part was just sitting in the Luxembourg Garden, near our hotel, for hours on end, eating chocolate croissants and strawberries, reading books and watching all the passersby. I think, on hectic days in my near future, after the baby is born and I'm sleep deprived and crazy and can't think straight, those are the moments I'm going to remember — the calm before the storm, when it was just Drew and me and our hopes for the days to come.

Oh! I forgot one other highlight of the trip. Early on — my third night or so in London — I felt the baby move for the first time (I think)! I was lying in bed, resting a hand on my stomach and I felt a quick "tap-tap-tap" from inside. I was just about 16 weeks along, which all the pregnancy info says is the earliest a woman might feel her baby move. I grabbed Drew's hand and put it on my stomach and he felt it too! Another "tap-tap-tap." I haven't felt it again since, but I'm hoping in the next few weeks it becomes a more regular occurrence.

I have a midwife appointment later today and it's possible we might find out the baby's sex. We'll definitely know at our next visit, when they do the full anatomy scan, but if there's some reason they need to do an ultrasound at today's visit, there's a pretty good chance we'll learn the gender. And that might be even more exciting that Paris. Maybe.

The Flight Map

I'm in London now. I arrived early this morning — 6:30 London time, 1:30 am New York time. I took a tube straight to the hotel and crashed the minute I hit the bed. I didn't sleep at all on the plane, despite being blessed with two whole seats to myself, and it's been weeks since I had a decent night sleep thanks to mad insomnia. I was so tired when I got here, I passed out cold and I know I could have slept all day, but I didn't want to be awake all night, so I forced myself to get up at 2 o'clock so I could shower and get dressed before Drew got back from work. Only, I was so groggy and out of my mind that when I looked at the clock, I thought it said 2:19, when really it said 12:19, but I didn't realize this until after I showered, got dressed and went out in search of food and coffee and water. I really wish I'd have gotten those two extra hours of sleep. I could have used them.

Back on the plane, something occurred to me. I read for the first few hours and then when I was too tired to focus on the words in the book anymore, I turned on the the little TV screen on the seat back in front of me and zoned out staring at the flight map. This was last, oh, hour and a half of the flight and we were just about to cross into Ireland. I watched as the little plane icon moved slowly across Ireland and then across the sea and then into England and I thought, "This is just what it's like to be pregnant!"

At least in these first early months, when you have yet to really look pregnant and you can't feel the baby and the only way you really know you're pregnant is that you haven't had a period in months and your boobs are huge and you're tired and hormonal all the time, there's this disconnect between you and what you read and hear is happening inside your body. Like, I know there's this baby growing inside me — I've seen it (twice!) on an ultrasound, and it's been confirmed by multiple tests, and all the literature tells me the way I'm feeling right now is normal ... but it just doesn't feel quite... real yet. And that's how it is when you watch the little plane fly across the flight map. You know, intellectually, that you're currently miles above Dublin or whatever, but it doesn't feel all that different than when you were miles above New York or Canada or the Atlantic Ocean. All you have to go by is that you're really tired and a little cranky and you can't wait to get off this fucking plane and go take a shower and a nap already.

And then you get off the plane and it's pretty disorienting and people have a funny accent and the money is different and you aren't sure where to catch the train and then all of a sudden it's real and you're so tired you just hope you can navigate yourself safely to the hotel in one piece and not get lost or mugged or worse on the way there. Maybe that's what it's like after the baby arrives. Who knows? Right now, in my pregnancy, metaphorically speaking at least, I'm still flying somewhere above the ocean. It's all blue down there and I see the plane on the map inching closer and closer to something big, but it doesn't mean much to me yet. I just hope I'm ready when it lands.

A Shopper's Nightmare

I leave for London a week from tomorrow and it dawned on me over the weekend that I'm not going to have anything to wear while I'm gone. That's something that I say all the time, "Wahhh, I don't have anything to weeeaaarrrr!" but usually there's at least something in my closet I can throw on — a pair of jeans and a shirt; a dress and some boots, whatever. But right now, I really mean it. In about 10 days, I'm going to be too big for my regular clothes and not quite big enough for maternity clothes and I really will have nothing to wear. I'll be gone for two weeks, too (10 days in London and four days in Paris) and that's a long time to be nekkid.

So, yesterday I went on a shopping spree. Or, I mean, I tried to go on a shopping spree. I saw online that Anthropologie has a bunch of loose blousey tops for sale this season — perfect for disguising a pudgey belly that looks more burger-filled than baby-filled — so I headed there first. They did have a lot of super over-priced blousey tops and even if I were willing to splurge on one or two of them, they were all so ugly, I couldn't even entertain the thought for the fun of it. You guys, seriously. Check it out. They should call it the Mrs. Roper collection. As for their dresses, I can see someone made use of the tablecloth I donated to charity last year after my cats shredded half of it...

After I left Anthropologie empy-handed, I headed to JCrew, where I took one quick peek at the price tag for this, and quickly turned on my heels and headed out. Next up: Esprit, which I loved as a teenager and which drew me back in yesterday with their promise of a store-wide 50% off sale. I tried on three pink shirts, thinking, I don't know, pink would make me feel more maternal or something, which is a really dumb thing to have in mind when you're shopping. I mean, they don't call 'em "mom jeans" cause they're flattering. Needless to say, the pink shirts were a miss.

Next I went to Zara, a store that seems to be in the middle of a major identity crisis. Is it a safari supply store or a one-stop-shop for all your raver needs? Also, I guess the Mrs. Roper look is just a thing this year. Anyway, I did manage to find one really cute top that I thought would be perfect as a transtional piece before I'm ready for full-on maternity wear. But then I got it to the dressing room and realized it wasn't a top at all; it was a romper! A romper!! I don't care if you're pregnant or not, the last thing a 140 pound woman — or any woman bigger than a size 2 and older than 20 8 — needs to be wearing is a short floral romper.

For my next stop, I decided to head to a store that actually has a real maternity section: Forever 21. To be honest, I wasn't even sure if they truly had a maternity section or if that was just an urban myth. And, having now visited Forever 21 for the sole purpose of finding maternity tops, I'm still not sure whether they really have a maternity section or just clever marketing. I did find a few "pregnant mannequins" but there was no sign that indicated a maternity section and the tags on the clothes had regular sizing, not maternity sizing. So, color me confused. Anyhow, I'll save you the suspense and tell you I didn't buy anything at Forever 21, though I did walk out feeling a whole lot better about the 50% possibility that I'm carrying a little boy, so that's something.

You'd think if nowhere else, a lady with a bloated belly would have some luck in a shoe store, but my visit to DSW was just as depressing as all the others. And it wasn't even the shoes' fault. It was the people. All the thousands of people crammed in that little, over-heated space with the music blaring and the flourscent lights burning holes in us, and the boxes all over the floor and the lines that wound around the aisles. I couldn't even bring myself to try anything on. It was all I could do to get myself out of there before I either barfed all over myself or started throwing high-heeled pumps at random people across the store in a fit of madness.

In the end, I bought eight new pairs of underwear at Filenes Basement. The cashier had some sort of problem with her register and I ended up paying four dollars for each pair instead of $5.99. I figured it was the shopping karma gods trying to make things up to me just a little bit. Next time, I'll take one really great, flattering, well-fitting dress for under 50 bucks, please.

New Beginnings

On New Year's Day, I woke up and brushed my teeth in the bathroom like I do every morning. As I leaned over the sink to spit, something caught my eye in the mirror. Not something, but somethings — two of them. Two strands of white hair beaming from the crown of my head like a light show. Well, I guess I'm really not getting any younger, I thought to myself, as I finished wiping my mouth. 2011 is the year I turn 35.

"I'm ready to make a baby," I announced to Drew as I crawled back in bed.

"Really?" He asked.

I'd originally told him I wanted to wait until after my birthday in September so I could enjoy one last carefree summer of unencumbered bike rides and Mojitos at Happy Hour.

"Fuck it," I said, "Let's just do this. It's probably going to take awhile anyway, so let's get this show on the road."

"Yes!" He exclaimed.

The next month my period was due and didn't come, so I took a pregnancy test. It was negative. I threw it in the trash.

I guess I'm just late, I thought, It's not going to happen this fast anyhow.

Then I sat down at my computer and started working. A couple hours later, I had this gnawing feeling I couldn't shake. "Look at that test again," a little voice in my head urged.

So I dug the test out of the trash and studied it. Still negative. I mean, right? There are supposed to be two lines if you're pregnant and I saw just one. Or maybe there was a really, really faint second line. I held the test under a lamp. Hmm. There was sort of a faint second line there. I Googled it: "Faint second line, pregnancy tests." A bunch of images popped up. They all looked just like my test. I read the descriptions of those images, many of them from blogs. I followed the links to the blogs and read about babies — babies that had been born eight months after those faint second lines showed up on pee sticks.

Oh wow. Was I going to have a baby?

I took six more tests over the next three days. Really, six. They were all positive, and clearly so. (Tip: if you want to skip the "Is it or isn't it" riddle, go digital!).

Last week, we had our second OB/midwife appointment and got to see our baby squirming around during an ultrasound. He (I have a feeling it's a he, but of course don't know for sure) was moving around so much — kicking his legs and flapping his arms — it was hard to get a good picture, but the sonographer managed to snap this:

I think he looks like Drew.

Yesterday I started my second trimester. I'm hoping to start feeling better soon. Luckily, I haven't had much nausea, but the fatigue, among other unpleasantries, has been relentless and unbearable. Some mornings I can hardly lift my head off the pillow. And most nights I've been asleep before nine, sometimes even before eight. Having any kind of social life these last couple of months has been a challenge, but I guess that's something I need to get used to anyway. My thyroid levels are three times higher than they should be, which is probably adding to the fatigue, so now that I'm taking medication for that, I'm hopeful I'll have more energy soon. If not, well, I suppose I need to get used to feeling exhausted all the time too.

Anyway, Drew and I are very excited. Very excited! We didn't anticipate this happening so quickly, and as much as I'll miss drinking champagne when I'm in Paris next month, I'm so, so grateful we have what seems to be a healthy baby snuggled in my belly (oh my God, I have a baby in my belly!). I'm sure we'll have plenty of parenting struggles in the not-so-distant future, so I'm happy that getting pregnant is one we were spared — at least this time. Baby's due on October 24th — exactly nine months to the day after I launched Dear Wendy. Guess there were "new beginnings" in my chart that week...

Spring Ahead

Hello, old friends. Remember me? Remember when I used to update this thing on the regular? I'm not sure if those days are gone forever or just for now. Time will tell. What I do know is it's been a lot of work getting my new site off the ground and to be honest, I'm at that point with it — or with life in general, I guess — where I'm becoming increasingly discouraged to be without an income. It's now been over two months since I received my last paycheck. That's a lot of shoes left unbought.

And yet, I'm working harder than I have in recent years. Maybe ever? And on my bad days, which come about 50% of the time right now, I wonder what the fuck I'm doing. Is it stupid to think I might be able to make a part-time income off a website? All signs point to yes. Is it foolish to hope I eventually make money syndicating my column? I'm sure. And yet, those are the baskets I'm putting my eggs in. If there were ever a time to prove the basket won't hold 'em, this is it, and I guess I owe it to myself to give it everything I've got. But, man, it's tiring.

In other news, Drew and I went to Austin last weekend. No, not for SXSW. I really couldn't give a rat's ass about SXSW. In fact, it sounds kind of awful, actually (no offense to any of you going!). But Austin's where my sister lives and I owed her a visit and March seemed like a good time to escape NYC and get a little jump on Spring, so I went last weekend while I was sure to avoid the influx of 200,000 extra white people. And it was quite nice. If you are headed to Austin this week or next — or anytime, really — I recommend the Queso at Geuro's on South Congress. Holy shit, I coulda stuck a spoon in that heavenly cheese and slurped up the whole bowl if I hadn't been sharing it with two others. It's that good.

And while Austin was fun, we've got an even bigger trip on tap for next month. Drew got invited to the royal wedding and I'm going as his guest! Well, okay, not exactly. He's going to London for work to cover the wedding — in all actuality, he'll be sitting in a dark editing bay during the occasion, which, on the '"glamour scale," is just a tiny bit above riding an un-airconditioned Fung Wa bus from Boston to NYC in the middle of August — but I'm still going along for the ride. While he's busy working, I'll get all dolled up and see if I can crash the reception of the century. If that doesn't work, I guess I'll just binge of Cadbury chocolates to make myself feel better.

When the wedding's over and Drew's done working, we're going to stay in London for a few days and my parents are going to fly up from Germany so we can celebrate my mom's BLANKETIETH birthday (it's a big one that ends with zero and starts with something between 1 and 9). And Mother's Day! The last time I got to celebrate my mom's birthday and Mother's Day with her, I was 17 years old, which was, like, seven or eight years ago, so this will be quite a treat. And then, after my parents leave, Drew and I are going to go to Paris for a few days. I think! We haven't quite worked out all the details yet, but it's looking like either Paris or some quiet town in the French countryside.

And now I have completely ruined any sympathy you may have had for me in my first paragraph of this post, huh? Well, fair enough. I've passed up a lot of shoe sales, but I still get a trip to London and Paris in the Spring. Life ain't that hard, I guess.

Happy Spring to all of you. Don't forget to set your clocks ahead this weekend!

Alphabet: A History (V)

Alphabet: A History (V) Valentine's Day

It's Valentine's Day, 2004, and for some extra money, I'm pitching in at the flower shop where I worked full-time until a few months ago. It's only early afternoon and I've already made 60 arrangements of long-stem red roses. I line up the vases ten deep on the counter and then fill them, one-by-one, with greenery — Myrtle, Eucalyptus, Bells of Ireland, Snake Grass, and Lemon Leaf — before dropping the roses in their place. We use Black Magic Roses, the most expensive, and in my opinion, most beautiful variety of roses.

"It's like a red velvet room," I sigh, opening the cooler two years earlier on my first Valentine's Day at the shop. An army of Black Magic Roses stands at attention, waiting stoically for its orders.

These days I'm less impressed. Roses are pretty, but they're the last thing I'd want to receive on a day like this, my fingers rubbed raw and red by their thorns. I prefer the flexibility of tulips instead, the way they bow in submission, almost humbly in their vases, against the aggressive presence of heartier flowers.

But it's not really roses or tulips on my mind today. My boyfriend moved out exactly four weeks ago — my ex-boyfriend, I mean — and I'm single for the first time in four years. Three years earlier, we'd moved together from Missouri to Chicago when I was 24 — and the apartment we shared, the place where I'm still living while I look for something smaller, something cheaper, feels enormous in its emptiness, feels empty against the aggressive presence of mass marketed love. I don't really want to go home today.

But I do. After 10 hours at the flower shop, I send my last arrangements out with the delivery driver and go home alone. I order Chinese food and listen to Nina Simone. I wait for the phone to ring. I wonder if anyone is thinking of me. I wonder if my ex-boyfriend is thinking of me. I wonder how long it will be before I find someone else, if I'll still be alone next year and the year after and the year after that. I wonder, suddenly, if it's possible I might always be alone, if maybe there really isn't someone out there for me, and if maybe I should have just stayed in my relationship after all. Maybe being with someone — anyone — seems better than this right now: an empty apartment and a half-eaten carton of Chicken Lo Mein.

The next morning I wake up and go to school. I go to school and come home and go to school and come home and I do this again and again and again. Some evenings are punctuated with dinner or drinks out with friends. Some days I stay in and study. On weekends, I worry about my solitude. I find a new apartment and move; I decide I don't like my living situation and move again. I date a little, have another failed relationship, watch a couple more Valentine's Days come and go.

And then it happens: I do find someone. And it's good. And it lasts. And those lonely years were not in vain. And I want to go back in time, back to 2004 and say: yes. Yes! It will be better.

But I'm still sitting in the dark, listening to Nina Simone and waiting for the phone to ring. I'm not ready for yeses yet.