Week 44, 2026: Real city girl
Sorry for getting this out to you later than I’d like. I never factor in the possibility of illness, nor the subsequent dread when something unwritten becomes overdue.
Sorry, too, for being so far away. I miss having the space to think hard and long when editorializing my week. The new bob has been helping at least. A haircut can do so much for you (or to you!) psychologically. My best idea in months, really.
Before October was over, there was book club. It was my turn to pick and I went for Men in the Sun. We were in agreement on how we felt about it and everyone had something really interesting to say. I’d never led a book club discussion before and wasn’t sure how well I'd done but I walked away full of gratitude and clove tea.
Jemima and I saw each other again for an Italian dinner and a French play. We wore English subtitle glasses that we rented in exchange for having our IDs temporarily confiscated. I’d forget at times that I needed to read the subtitles to understand what was being said and my eyes would wander to the actors who weren't speaking.
Before October was over, there was the Faraj Suleiman concert. He’s touring his one-man show with a mic and a piano. A captivating watch, a tear-jerking listen. I'm really fond of concerts with lots of seating and no BO.
Flat viewings are ongoing. This week was studio-heavy. The anxiety pendulum swung based on how many viewings and leads I had going at any given moment. I've looked at seven flats and the best of them didn’t have a stove. I didn’t know you could call a kitchen a kitchen if it didn’t have a stove, I said, and saw the realtor fight the urge to roll her eyes. Students make it work, she smiled, passing the urge to me.
Before October was over, there was Halloween. The party was on King St. I showed up dressed as King St (paper crown, black and white striped top) and carrying a pack of Modelos that I had no interest in drinking myself. I expected to be told off for lack of effort so I was surprised to be told it was clever. How’s King Street doing, a pirate said when he found me later, sitting with Kim Possible, a finance bro and a cat. Two people I really liked, an evil tooth fairy and a rotten apple, had left by then for another party. Cruella was inside somewhere trying on a Scooby Doo head.
I left at midnight, as it was no longer October. A guy I’d like to get to know better asked if my cab was waiting downstairs as I hovered near the lift. I’m taking the subway, I replied, sheepish. Oh you a real city girl, he said. That line would re-play in my head as I jumped over a pile of vomit to get on the bus.