Knock On Wood
Thursday night at the Pig: stressful. Checking news feed on my cell phone between vodka sodas, waiting to see if the MTA is going to go on strike in NYC. If so the interview I’m supposed to have the next day is going to be canceled, ruining my plans to do something about my future. After being sung about by my favorite Irish guitarist, "the prettiest girl who comes to the Pig every Thursday and never gets lucky because she’s too intimidating..." the MTA strike is still in talks, and I go home to sleep and assume that in the morning I will be on my way to Manhattan.New York. After talking about myself for roughly an hour, citing all my great (hah) qualities and how qualified those qualities make me for the position, I walk around Manhattan and fall in love with it all over again. The city is like a good man that you’ve met before but had to leave behind. Its return makes you realize how there's really nothing else quite like it, makes you realize how much you've missed it. It’s the kind of place that you can reinvent yourself in. The 1/9 to 14th and the L to Bedford, I make it to Brooklyn to drink and hang out with old friends and picture what kind of person I might become.
The trip back home feels too long, and getting off the T near my apartment, Symphony Hall illuminated in front of me, I breathe in deep the Boston air and think about how much I would miss this place if I had to leave it. I realize that sometimes you don’t realize how much you love something until you’re faced with losing it, and how Boston, like a lot of things in my life, means more to me than I let myself admit. All I know is that by this time next week everything in my life could completely change, or remain entirely the same.
They seem so flimsy, these things a grown woman can hang her over-grown hopes on.
posted by Victoria Comella @ 5:16 PM
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