July

Twelve months is a lot to write through.

You may be thinking what I would probably be thinking: This is over-dramatic and self-centered. I hope she doesn't plan to do this every year.

Well, yes. And also: a year ago at this time I thought--well, I didn't think my life was over, but I sure didn't know where it was going. I lost a four year relationship and a roommate. I found myself tied via property to a city where I no longer had a vested long-term interest. In love, I realized: I am 30. Anyone I marry at this point, barring any rekindled past relationships, will only know me as a 30 year old. I felt sad for those lost years, grateful for another opportunity at happiness, and completely out of my element.

By the grace of God and kindness of strangers, I'm here to write about what I learned in a year and how things changed for me. Maybe other, future years will get the same treatment, maybe not. And, yes, maybe that's self-indulgent. Maybe these problems are first world problems. Let us sit in that discomfort for a minute and then move on.

July.

The beginning of July found me in Portland, OR where I met up with my mom, her sister and my cousin. I had a very elaborate guide of bookstores and other places to visit that the poet had generously written for me before I drunk-texted him one night listing out all his faults and had to cut off communication after. I wasn't very interested in the conference in town (except to occasionally make fun of the geniuses and rescue my family from eating conference breakfast in the parking garage, insisting that we go out into the sunshine and find a coffee shop instead), but I was interested in exploring, having perfected the walk-a-bout while in Los Angeles.

Portland is home to the mecca of bookstores and I went every day. There are also bridges and gardens and trolleys and food carts and, that weekend, a blues festival. With Lucinda Williams! And 4th of July fireworks!

I had given up the vague hope of finding an attractive single 30something MENSA genius with social skills when from out of nowhere, one bummed a cigarette off of me. I didn't realize what was happening until the middle of unexpected and effortless banter when we both realized, wait, YOU'RE here for the conference? In the span of maybe three minutes, tops, I gave him my number with a "you seem like my kind of people, we should hang out this weekend."

And we did hang out. Dinner, no more. After, I wrote: "Surprise dates with a stranger. All the sweeter for their lack of script and narrative. I am for the moment a safe ear to whisper in: This is really personal..."

I left Portland feeling alive, empowered, and connected to the people and places I had visited.

And so I boldly re-entered Houston with an invitation to go see my crush play a show. An invitation I accepted after drinking all the beer left in the fridge. On an empty stomach. After waking up at 3am to catch a flight. And the next morning everything was a blur, and I didn't hear from him again, and two days later, on July 9, I stopped drinking altogether.