Tuesday, December 18, 2007

Is this it?


My local Duane Reade.


Like most New Yorkers I know, I have always had a love-hate relationship with this city. Since my arrival, my feelings have been less than amorous.

I opened my wardrobe, eager for something different to wear. I found only my summer clothes hanging there I left in September. My winter clothes still packed away.


Not winter ready.

I needed to refill a prescription. I have always used mail order through my health insurance, but the problem is that I have no insurance now. My insurance told me to get the prescription transferred to a local pharmacy. I tried my local Duane Reade. I went there THREE times in one day, each time explaining what to do and they did not get it. Finally, they just called my doctor for a refill. The last visit, standing in a crawling line of five people deep, I breathed deeply in and out, annoyed with the banality of real life, and trying to settle myself down. Finally when I got to the front of the line, a elderly woman came out of nowhere asking if her pills were ready. She turned to me, "Sorry, but I have a cab waiting outside." Lady, I have been living in this place all day! The infuriating entitlement complex of New Yorkers! I almost strangled her. Luckily, the cashier rang me up first.

I ran my errands at odds with this city. I got pushed around in the too-small card store, everyone frantically buying their holidays cards at the last minute. Walking down the street, I was accousted by homeless men asking for money and random crazies talking to themselves. The post office had a line of about fifty people snaking around at a snail's pace. Not even worth trying to buy a book of stamps. At the grocery store, however, I made an exciting a discovery: whole-milk yogurt--but only available in a big tub--one I eagerly placed in my cart, alongside some museli and corn flakes. (After tasting it, I think that the low-fat will do. This yogurt is almost too rich). I was dismayed to find the selection of fresh rolls looking not so fresh. Dejected, I dropped in bread in a bag into the cart. This would have to do for now.


Exciting breakfast finds.


Weary and tired from my day out, when I came home, I opened the mail box to find this:




Dan came home late and I cooked dinner for the first time in months. Salmon with vegetables. We talked about our moving plans and while I was excited about the prospect when I was abroad (I have always disliked our little apartment), suddenly it all seemed very scary and intimidating leaving this home. Since I have been back, this is the one place in this crazy town that I feel myself.

Besides my mom, I have avoided calling everyone and announcing my arrival. (Don't worry I will get to you all). It's just that making those calls mean that it is official: I am back in New York. My trip is over. I don't want to let go.
Finally, I broke down and called my friend Katie at work. Happy to hear from me, but said she couldn't talk. She had a meeting. I get it. Life has to go on.

2 comments:

Brian said...

Hopefully Polish Ham goes on, too.

Squeen said...

Yes, on with the Ham!