Monday, June 18, 2012
About a year ago (almost exactly,) I was hauling boxes up our ridiculously ramped apartment, cursing and sweating and melting in the east coast heat and humidity. As I lugged box by box I was extremely aware of the fact that in a few weeks time I would be boarding a plane to California. By myself. I set Brett up in the Pittsburgh apartment, decorating, buying, painting and sweeping every nook and cranny until it felt perfect. But it wasn't mine. And I knew that.
(The blog entry from that time: http://thewifeexperiment.blogspot.com/2011/08/attack-of-cardboard.html)
THAT BEING SAID. It was a weird time for me. I fell in love with this apartment, already being in love with my husband, and felt like I was missing out on something. I polished our wedding silver. I febreezed. I had dinner parties here where I whored out our wedding set like a pro.
And then I left.
And a lot of crazy shit happened.
Coming back into this house felt like stepping into a chapter I had forgotten but desperately missed. We came "home" to Pittsburgh late last night, our bags full, the morning early, and our eyes heavy. I stepped inside and literally dropped my bag to smell.
This is what my life here smells like: Cinnamon, 'Fresh Cotton' Febreeze, Pine Sol, a touch of Windex, dryer sheets, and vanilla laced with nutmeg. There is literally no scent on earth to me that feels like home more than this does. In the heart of a gritty city, this bouquet of scent thrills my senses. It is pretty heavenly.
Brett and I got into our bed and simply could not sleep. (But NOT in the way you think.) We talked. We tossed and turned and discussed fears and happiness and the fact that I seem to twirl a lot when I should be still. 5 am came and went. Brett dressed for work. I slept until 11.
The globe kept turning.
In the morning, Brett did what he always did early in our marriage. He tucked me in, kissed me on the forehead, and slipped away quietly. Usually I was never awake for this ritual, but today I was. He didn't know that, of course. I kept my eyes tightly shut and actually felt the moments of our morning. I focused on the pressure of his lips against my slightly sweaty brow, I calculated the pressure of his hands on my shoulders as he reached down to embrace me...I lost myself in the moment.
Because, how many moments do we get?
Today I was talking on a phone as I crossed a street in the city, and did not notice that a car was screaming towards me. (Because I was on my phone. Talking about T.V. I am shamed.) I had to jump put of the way, literally throw myself, and the driver and I just exchanged a look like: HOLY SHIT WHAT THE FUCK. It was actually incredibly scary and made me feel like I CANNOT DIE IN THE MIDDLE OF PITTSBURGH IN A CITY THAT IS SO SAD 'BATMAN' WAS FILMED HERE. It made me think about my life and wonder how I can live it more. And not in the cool way where I throw myself into traffic.
Tonight I made dinner for a few girlfriends and we drank wine, talked about everything from sexual positions to kindergardners to the best thing to add to a spinach salad. I had a moment where I looked at these two woman and felt so happy that a year apart had not stifled anything about our relationship. We still giggled, teased each other, sneaked large pourings of wine when the recipient wasn't looking- and we connected. It didn't matter I had spent a year away- finding myself, losing myself, re-discovering myself. What mattered was that we cooked together, shaved Parmesan into our pasta, poured more red wine, and ended up boogying to J-Lo as the night went on.
Life is never what we expect, is it? Take a few chances. Move. Laugh. Drink wine until midnight. Tell secrets. Tell jokes. Hug. Kiss.
I can't wait for tomorrow.
Who knows what is there for me.