Seven years ago I moved to Chicago from my college apartment and I hated it. I was miserable and I never wanted to stay. I was also unemployed and a loser living in my Mom's new apartment. My options were few. My college boyfriend had talked of heading west to Portland. My best bud and I talked about going to California where you could teach with just a bachelor's degree. These ideas amounted to nothing and I continued to sleep in the corner of Mom's loft in the west loop. Boyfriend faded away and friend moved to Iowa (IOWA, the hell?) for a job. I eventually got a job too, then another. I moved to Logan Square and then Lakeview. I had a roommate. I lived alone. I painted some nice pictures and made a few new friends. Mostly, I remained tightly bonded to my college friends and spent hours on the phone with them. I walked around ethnic neighborhoods and bought interesting spices, incense and crappy shit to tack on my walls. I dated a few dorks. I had a few nice dates thrown in the mix. I walked over the river under stars. I rode the train with a cute guy. I went to Cubs games. I fell in love with restaurants, some fancy and some simple. I became a regular at a bar. Tourists began asking me for directions, imagine that! Even stranger, I knew the directions. I fell in love with a man. I began to sigh as I walked around the pretty parts of the city. The river smelled of sewage and promise. The beaches shined with glass shards and happiness. I defended the corruption and ten percent sales tax to naysayers. I thanked God that I didn't live in my hometown. I fell in love with Chicago but it was not romantic love. It was familial. Chicago will never be my lover. It will always be my big brother. It sheltered and defended me until I was a woman. Now, I am too big to share its quarters. I cannot handle the thin walls of apartments and the smells on the bus. I needed, so desperately, to find a little solace of a home.
I have not typed much of anything, besides work stuff, in a long while. I am typing from my new house, from the computer room, from the suburbs. I love my new house. LOVE IT. I am here with my real love, Bill, our new love, Kobi and my things. Kobi is the best part of having a yard. He is a wiggling 95 pound mass of love and sneezes.
Much of the crap that was once tacked on carriage house apartment walls is here. There is a world map in the guest room. A lovely screen print that my friend Jesse gave me almost a decade ago. My college sheets wait, folded, for guests to come and visit. I am trying to add the new stuff sparingly, so I don't end up with Pottery Barn decor. I have arrived at adulthood and am no longer dragging my feet.
