i'm going to be over here for a while.

things i'd say to me then. from now.

a poetic tale about dander.

i'm in a never-ending battle with pet hair. the more i dust, sweep, vacuum, yell, the more hair there is. piles in the corner. on the stove. falling from the sky. dancing around the vents. on my pillow. on my coat. on my toothbrush.

it's gross. really, really gross. and it's making me sick.
literally.
i'm allergic to pet hair. and dust.
but still i press on - hiding my white flag in a secret place i hope to forget.
and i clean. and scrub. and wash my hands. then clean some more.
and then wash. my hands. again.
rinsing the dander down the drain.
because the other option is get rid of the pets.
which is neither a reality nor a possibility.
because i love them (both) too much.
so i'll rage on in the battle of sinuses versus dander and hair and dust.
never surrendering.
always sneezing.

today.

today, i played candyland. i took photos on a princess camera. i gave baths, hugs and shared a snack. and when i left, i heard a sad voice say, "but i want her to stay for dinner."

that sad voice made my day. (maybe even my year.)

i so love being an aunt.

dreams.

last night, b and i had almost the same dream. this isn't the first time that's happened. but every time it's just as odd. strange. creepy.

i guess we're pretty close.

speaking of dreams, have i ever told you that when i went to school for magazine journalism, my dream was to end up at the New Yorker or Esquire?

funny, i've never even been to New York.

working on MLK day.

means a lonely lunch-hour walk.

making the most of it.

this morning, i went for a run in the snow.
i loved every second of it. it was hard. exhilarating. perfect. quiet.
last year, i ran in the snow a lot. but after a year, your body forgets.
how much it works muscles you're not used to using.
the thrill of the crunch, crunch, crunch.
the shocked looks you receive from drivers, bundled up inside their heated cars.
the sure-footed strides.
the ones that aren't.
the way it feels to, finally, conquer winter.

taxman.

covered.

big, white flakes cover the
filth.
the exposed roots.
the death in every
front
yard.
brown grass.
leafless trees.
patio furniture - naked without summer's cushions.
no pinks or yellows.
or even patterns.
just rusty wrought iron
and dry, crackling wood.
the promise of spring suffocating beneath
the death grip of
winter.

small.

my new office has two windows. they both overlook the two loft buildings i've lived in downtown. and if i squint, i can pretend to see over the broadway bridge to vml, where i worked for 3 years. on the way to work, i pass the kansas city star and barkley. both places i've worked. both places i've loved.

and as i settle in to having an office with a door that i can shut. to being able to play music without needing headphones. to the new street and the new view and the new co-workers, i am struck, again, but how much of my life has centered around the same several-block radius.

2011.

i start my new job tomorrow. today's filled with running around. hot yoga. and one. last. day. of. rest.

it's been a great vacation. i've slept until 9 or 9:30 every day. i ran close to 40 miles. i ate good food. spent time with good people. and fell in love all over again with B.

here's to what 2011 will bring. mostly goodness, i hope.