I hit a moment yesterday morning in the minutes before I had to leave my writing spot for the subway that sent me flying high with motivation, making plans, assuring the good half of me that I would not let the bad half give up. I have flirted with giving up on things over the years but I haven’t yet.
In fact, I’m just getting started.
That was the morning. Once I reached my desk in Midtown it was easy to forget what pretty thoughts were dancing around in my head when I was downtown. Of course the rest of the day was spent watching this burst of motivation fizzle, feeling misunderstood by most everyone, and culminating at the end of the day in one of those low moods made worse by a stalled subway train at 42nd Street and an exorbitant bill in the mailbox to which my only response was and could have been: Ha!
I thought it would last the whole night. But e has a way about him. We talked ideas. We made baked potatoes. We watched The Lady from Shanghai. I’m very much in love with him—after almost fifteen years—and if I look into his eyes it’s hard to be down. He has deep, dark brown eyes, my favorite kind. Eating our baked potatoes, watching the stunning black-and-white scenes in the film, I thought how my days have such high peaks and low valleys and is this the normal way to live? But I was too tired to ponder this any further so, after the film, I stumbled up the ladder to bed. To go to sleep. To do it again today.
And here I am, trying to return to where I was yesterday. If only it were possible to bookmark a moment. Because where was I again? I seem to have lost my place.