I’m sitting on an old, brown, hideously ornate couch that belongs to my landlord with Charlie curled up in a black ball next to me.
I happen to like this couch by the way…maybe because it’s so ugly and old.
It’s quiet. It’s blessfully quiet. My first really quiet weekend since I moved into the city and it feels nice.
Things are slowly starting to fall into a rhythm, a new rhythm, but a great rhythm nonetheless and I love it.
I’m back on my own again and that feeling is so indescribably great. It’s just good.
I am still not settled. Have shit everywhere. My suitcase is full of clothes because I don’t have a dresser and not enough hangers…a complete tangled and twisted mess..
My items are strewn everywhere.
I have no order.
But my room is my room and my place is my place.
No living with parents, nobody to answer to, just me, myself, and I.
In the morning I walked over to Humboldt Park, right down the street from where I live and it was a magical winter wonderland. Snow covered everything and Charlie zipped back and forth, her black coat against the white.
I also discovered the Latin American grocery store of my dreams just around the corner from where I live. Goya food products graced almost every shelf. O heyyyyy.
Produce looked pretty great. I’m excited.
The snow here is a biznatchy bitch though if you don’t have the right shoes.
Chicago, you are mo fuggin’ cold.
But I love it.
