Sneaky

Love is sneaky.

After months of trying to figure out new places to go, new ways to meet people, new ways to catch that guy with the dogeared copy of Crime and Punishment's eye. Agonizing over another night in Boystown where you will not be meeting any tall, muscley, book-loving Colts fans with real jobs, another overtime shift, another Friday night of laundry and wine, baking cupcakes for happy coworkers -- simple singleness, slightly settled. Very set in one's ways.

And all of it's fine. There are nights where you twirl down the street in the snow with your best friends, thinking life can't possibly get any better than these starry lit nights where your breath swirls in the breeze with snowflakes and Lady Gaga running circles in your head, walking home on the always alive streets of Chicago. Nights with so much laughter you cry. Nights that are nothing but trouble trouble trouble, stories to tell to entertain adoring fans and captive audiences.

And since life can't get any better, you start to do the same things. Musical Monday, New recipe on Tuesday, Trivia on Wednesday, Class, Homework, Gym, Work, Laundry (lots of laundry). And as quickly as everything became eclipsed by the terrible, happiness creeps in. With no parade, no hoopla, it's there.

And then, on some random night after some lengthy day of procrastinated grad school final writing when plans you had fell through and you end up at the second most likely place you'd ever be found in Boystown on a Monday night, when you least expect it, when you aren't desperately searching for it, when you are just being yourself and drinking the purple pitcher special at Roscoe's, everything changes.

And such a lovely-unexpected-fireworky-sunny-day-in-the-middle-of-a-week-of-thunderstorms-lucky-beautiful-take-your-breath-away-amazing-ninja-out-of-nowhere change, it is. You know, in that, I'd be so annoyed and disgusted if this were anyone else kind of gross way.

Sneaky, sneaky, sneaky.

Thanks Lisa

Dear Lisa,


Thanks for helping me start over and figure out a plan for getting re-railed instead of de-railed.


Love,
me