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Counting My Chickens

I am laying on my bottom bunk in my apartment in New York. Today was fun. The people I like were here and we went to Target and ate lunch and sat around all night drinking wine (them) and telling stories (me) and talking about how miserable all of us are and how no one else will ever understand how strange and testing this kind of life really is. It was wonderful.

Now I’m trying to fall asleep so I won’t be completely exhausted on my flight(s) home tomorrow, but I’m too…something…wait a second – is that – excitement? Like a little girl on the eve of the birthday on which she JUST KNOWS she is getting a bike? The purple one? With different speeds? Yes. I think that’s what it is. I am excited.

I haven’t seen Tim in weeks (again) and I have so much to tell him.

Like how I met his Uncle Al and stayed in his family’s apartment in Manhattan to escape Lady Irene. A perfect little Upper West Side abode that I was welcomed in to like family and then given reign over the Netflix. I never got to meet his Aunt Jen or cousin Roman as they were weekending in The Catskills, but I talked to them on the phone and felt like they knew me. They left the door open for me and let me stay in their home while they while they were all out of town for two days and set out sheets and towels. Like you would do for your best friend that you’ve known for years who needs a place to sleep out the storm. Not the girl claiming to be engaged to the nephew you haven’t seen in years. I felt welcomed. I left them a loaf of bread and a full jar of grape jelly because I couldn’t find anything better at the time. But I will.

I loved it, honestly. When the weather permitted, I got to take a little walk around a part of New York I had never been to before. I made deliberate turns and talked on my phone and pretended that I lived in Manhattan and was just out doing the sorts of things New Yorkers need to take care of the morning after a hurricane. I don’t think they were any the wiser. It was nice to be in a city again and surrounded by people who know nothing about you but somehow understand your plight just because you’re in the same place at the same time. Nothing brings people together like a natural disaster. Or at least the threat of one. I miss the silent camaraderie that lends itself to cities with such loyal inhabitants. You are never really alone.

I will also tell my Tim that I didn’t get a transfer back to Atlanta yet, but that I’m beginning to think that’s okay. After all, I miss Atlanta terribly and I think of her often and fondly, but I know I will get back there eventually. I just need to get better at waiting. I think Tim will be proud of this effort to practice positive and forward thinking. Even if he knows me well enough to know that it is only a matter of days before I find myself in a pit of despair pining for my sweet city. Oh, well. At least he understands what a hard time I am having adjusting to the move and the job and the whole crazy mess. He knows that the mood swings and mind changes and constant new resolves to turn it all around are just part of my process. I will get there. I am getting there. That is why he will be so happy to hear that I sat up all night because I was too excited to sleep.

Excited to be going home.

 And I think I will sleep just fine tomorrow night. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves…I have a tendency to call takebacks on guarantees like that.

I’m getting there.


About katetatumbailey

I am a flygirl raised in ATL, living in SFO, and working out of NYC. Follow me

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