Tuesday, November 29

Somebody that you used to know.

I only have 2 more weeks of commuting back and forth from Alexandria until I can move into our lovely row house in Eastern Market.

I've been commuting this way for just under a year and never really minded so much until now. It seems the universe has decided it will make me feel each one of these remaining days as painfully and frustratingly as possible. The trains will be delayed, the gym bags will feel heavier and heavier, the happy hours will be harder to resist. It will rain when I'm wearing suede pumps.

Strangely, most everything that I love in this city is in a 6 block radius of my new house—yes, I have made a collection of favorite places—my bookstore, coffee shop, gym, church, brunch spot, and office are all right here. Marines run through the neighborhood like sweating American Apollos. Bartenders know my name and drink. This is my neighborhood—Del Ray, I am so over you.

This morning I stood on the platform with all the other sleepy hill staffers and Pentagon types. I stopped to put on my pearl studs and adjust my skirt and knew I was being watched by the man standing beside me. We stand beside each other almost every day with a regularity that is almost depressing—our morning routines are so buttoned down. We stand at the same spot because we both get off at L'Enfant and know exactly what car we should enter if we don't want to fight a current of people to make our transfer.

He'll probably wonder where I've gone in a few weeks.

Yes, these are the things that go through my head.