09 August 2010

the beauty of _my_ blog

dear paris wagon guy -

this is my place. mine. my safe place to be me, express me, and be comfortable with me.

this is where i feel free to write what i will, express whatever tickles my fancy today, put out there whatever is on my mind. this is _my_ place to do with as i please. and if you don't like what i'm writing, then peace the eff out.

if i want to write about politics, i will. if i want to write about how madly in love with my boyfriend i am, or how much more amazing life is with a dog, or how the above two loves have changed my life's priorities, i will. if i want to write about discovering life in my new city, above and below her streets, this is my place to do so.

i am not here to be original, above and beyond what's new or important to me. i'm not here to satiate your need for me to be something greater than just a girl exploring her new city. and gosh, i sure do hate to disappoint my fans, but i'm just a girl exploring her new city with her new dog, whilst exploring new feelings for a new boyfriend.

if you want to come here and read about me, you are welcome. and you are even welcome to post comments that i won't delete. but don't you dare come to _my_ place and tell me what i should be doing here. this place is _mine_ not yours. and if you don't like that, then go away...


08 August 2010

the eeriness of a city sleeping

one of my favorite things about italy is the solitude of her morning. in venice in particular. too dark still to be morning long after it should, the only sounds being the faint swish of the brooms sweeping the streets of yesterday and the mild rushing of water through the canals, venice mornings have a hauntingly romantic feel about it.

dc mornings, on the other hand, though similarly dereft of life beyond the grumbling street sweepers, are more akin to the ruins abandoned by the traveling carnival. trash and half-eaten food everywhere, broken glass littering the walkways, dead rats strewn about, the smell of garbage drifting through air bogged down by soggy humidity, and a more americanized version of the street sweeper bitching about the pigs and the trough they make of the streets. notwithsanding its eww factor, dc mornings have their own air of intrigue.

and as different as their mornings can be, there really is something captivating in walking the streets of a city so typically swelling with life and sparkle, in those rare moments when even it gives in to the allure of sleep.