What I will want so badly one day is to remember today. Days like today, in my twenties, newly engaged with a new apartment and a new career in spring time, verging on summer.
I read an article in the Times about Alzheimer's today and it reminded me that memories are our whole lives. Memory of this unremarkable day is the kind that slips away easily under normal circumstances and one day I will probably read these words as if they are brand new.
What will I want to know about who I was today?
I left work late after the first day of finally hitting my stride in this fast paced new environment. It was chilly and I ate a salad I'd prepared the night before of snap peas and radishes.
Kevin and I leave for Punta Cana with his family on Thursday for a cousin's destination wedding. My sister comes home tomorrow for a week and a half before heading back to Rochester for the summer.
We have barely anything in the fridge and are clearing it out further before we leave. One of the wines in our fridge is a white from a winery called Borealis. It's from Oregon and it's quite good. We broke the cork cork opening the bottle; I so prefer rubber corks.
Yesterday we went to Bushwick and ate at Roberta's, shopped at Big Tree Wine, and bought a coconut from a guy with a cart and paper straws. Never change, Bushwick, except that it will. For now it's still the same neighborhood I remember from the summer of backyard barbecues before all of my friends and I got engaged.
Future self: Today I was chugging along, stressing about a PowerPoint that will be used for a 15 minute presentation. Today I am 99% over what I think was food poisoning which sucked really fucking hard and humbled my beliefs about my digestive system. Today I took a moment on the train to meditate on the wonderful things I was going home to: dinner with my fiancé over delicious West Coast wine and an impending island getaway, a tan(!), and some major photo ops.