I've been feeling a longing for the beach. Not like a Cayman Islands beach, but a beach that's less perfect. I sometimes go to the beach, walk along, and pick up trash. I want to feel like I'm contributing, like I'm making something better when I feel I can't do that in other areas of my life.
Yesterday, I was walking Abby along St. Nicholas and I saw a flock of seagulls hovering around something in the street. There's a fish market on the corner of 145th and St. Nicholas (it's called the Famous Fish Market, which I find sort of hilarious because it's not famous but why not name it that anyway?). I've seen seagulls hanging out there before, but something about their regality and whiteness against the fresh snow seemed more promising than ever.
Today I'm watching the snow melt and listening to it drip down the gutter. The wind chimes are singing; they are from France, and the night before last, I had a dream that one of my best friends and her wife told me they were moving to Paris. When I told her about the dream, she said, "I'd move to Paris!" A week prior, I had a dream that my older brother was moving to Nepal, and I couldn't stop crying.
Other than that, and the mottled skin on my back and the fact that my teeth seem less white than usual, and I need to do my taxes and tune my guitar and return a blouse that was way too big, um, I forgot what I was going to say.
It's March 3rd and I have a ways to go.