Dear hypothetical reader,
I am sorry for the severe lack of actual content, but preparing for the re:open! weekend at The Visual Arts Center of Richmond had, for a little while, taken my brain away.
After two fancypants galas (both of which I got too silly drunk and laughed too loud but felt good so who cares, maybe?), and almost 9 hours of teaching a workshop to over 200 people, I spent Saturday night and all of Sunday massaging my high heel injured calves and buying a pretty blue dress because "I'm allowed."
I walked Ruby through Randolph yesterday afternoon, and paused my ipod to talk to every old lady I saw; the warm weather pulled them out of their houses and onto their decorated porches. On the way home I walked down to Byrd Park to let Ruby sniff around by the lake and I watched three kids get attacked by 200 or so seagulls for their bags of bread, and I know it's not nice to laugh, but I did. So hard.
I have been thinking a lot about places, and I feel conflicted, pulled by both the familiarity of the North and by how Southern I have become. I miss my family and my best friends and a handful of tangible things like bagels and beaches and blizzards and maybe some other B words, but to think about leaving Richmond gnaws at my gut. I love this house, I love the life we're able to have, I love the dirty art community that's building all around it, drawing on the walls of the city with thick, flat paint, claiming parts. I love giving our dogs a good life with a big space to run around in while still being in the middle of the city and having some change leftover in my pocket.
I don't know what I want, really, except to spend more days with the back of my knees touching the top of his legs and laughing.