When You're Here

My apartment suffers from being exposed to the elements. Yes, there's insulation, and no, there aren't any broken windows or anything, but it's a self-contained little space that was originally meant for maids. I only got a small dose of how hot it could get in the summer--luckily, I was at work for the hottest part of the day, and it always got chilly at night (thank you, Hollywood Hills). Summer came to a close. Now, these days, the cold seems to penetrate every facet of my life. The loft I work in is like a cave. My car's seat warmers have been acting funny. And this beloved apartment of mine has turned into a meat locker that I sleep in.

For the first time in months, I didn't notice the temperature.

Even though it was pouring outside, and I wore my black "these-are-for-protecting-your-feet-from-glass-in-the-summer" thongs outside to open the gate, I didn't even have to scurry for my blue polar fleece robe when I came back into the room. I could come in and breathe a little first. I could feel these lungs of mine fill with glorious cloudy-day air and rejoice in my steady heartbeat.

And Then I put on the robe.

But the point is, for a small slice of time in this largely upside-down world of mine, I felt at peace. Even with that terrible mouthful of mint chocolate covered graham cracker, I was enjoying myself. Heck, even when the overly-minty taste lingered in my mouth, I still felt okay about it all. Wilco was on the telly and I was singing along, goddamnit. For the first time in months, nothing was bothering me enough to register. Things that have weighed me down my whole life just went up in smoke. No self consciousness, no guilt, no fear.

It was such a lovely night.

As I lay here in my bed, next to my big picture window, I am wrapped in that polar fleece robe staring at the fog. I am listening to the sounds of the rain and letting the comforting white noise take me back to that night. And I believe that my smile is bright enough to land planes and bring weary travelers to safety. Even though the planes are landing in Burbank and the weary travelers are really just coked out personal assistants coming home from the gym.

Love. g