Dear Diary, or Close Enough

Yesterday was the first day I thought really hard about going home. It lasted for about 15 minutes, under a scalding hot spray. But it was a long 15 minutes. By the time I managed to dry myself off, I had little raisins for fingertips. Can we call them raisins instead of prunes? I don’t think I know anyone who likes prunes.

The trouble is, I don’t really want to go home. I feel like that would be a very serious blow to my already injured self-esteem. The other trouble is, although I’m in danger of regressing here, I still very much associate home with Mom. And my mom is currently driving across the country, in what can only be described as a toy — the cutest toy.

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Miss Fiat (500) really likes the open road.

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We’re very close, my mother and I, although sometimes we go quite a few days without talking. Sometimes weeks, when we’re both happy/busy. The last few days we’ve just been sending each other pictures. This is sort of a new thing. I send mine to say here’s proof that I left my apartment today!

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So she knows that I’m not sitting in a puddle in my studio. (Or at least, not all day.) And I love seeing where she is, because it’s all so far away from the slush and the rush. No sirens and skyscrapers, where she is.

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She’s been winning the scenery game. Dominating, if you want to know the truth. I think I’m 0 for 5. Sometimes she will send game over, and then I love you and I’m so proud of you and I know this isn’t easy. And she will remind me that applying for jobs will eat away at a girl’s self-confidence, if she’s not careful, and that it’s really important to remember to refuel.

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With a friend, if at all possible. Gotta get those changes of scenery.

And here is what I (still) can’t quite believe: I am making friends. How come no one ever told me that all you need to do is offer up approximately 70% of your diary, for everyone to read? This would have made high school a lot less of a hassle. (Or you know, maybe not. Maybe not at all.)

But there is the distinct possibility that being more real might have helped. It might have helped, to know that you also found pretending to keep up to be absolutely exhausting. And that now, ‘faking it ‘til you make it’ is not on your list of strengths either.

And that you’ve also had to learn, the not so easy way, that the project of loving yourself doesn’t stop when you find someone to love you.

And that most of the time you only have a very vague idea of where you’re going. What you’re doing.

And that you like to bake too. When you’re feeling sad and lonely.

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And that you also find it pretty hard to separate one feeling from the other. And there’s someone in your 3am thoughts, too, and you really wish they weren’t.

And that you’ve been reading since A Dash of Drivel, from the summer of my junior year — when I was also at loose ends. (I wonder if I’ll look back on this blog, in a few years, and also consider it to be a gigantic run-on sentence? A particularly long-winded embarrassing moment?)

Anyway, it’s really nice, to know there is a Ladurée on the Upper East Side, and this is where you think I should go.

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And that you also have mice (…hopefully, mice) running marathons over your head at night. And that you’ve also had to kill a cockroach — and nope, you’re still not over it either.

And that your sister lives in my neighborhood, and you’re totally willing to share her with me. And that there’s an exhibit you think I might like, and that entry happens to be free today.

And that you got your current job using this site, and you’re also still in the process of trying on several different careers. And that it’s painful, to try things on. Like bathing suits, in the middle of January. Can we just agree to put that off, for another few months?

It’s also so nice to hear that I make you hungry, and that you like to cook too. And that you find yourself compensating for your lack of official training with unbridled enthusiasm. (I do this, too.) And that you made a family favorite last night, and you think I might be able to hack it — toaster oven be damned.

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And that you’re reading a book right now, and it’s a good one, and you really think I should order it from the library. And that you’re going to be in town, and you’d love to catch up. And that I’ll probably be able to find you in Self-Help, but if I can’t, chances are good that you’ll be in my other favorite section.

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It all means so much. Especially: I love your writing, please don’t give up.

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4 thoughts on “Dear Diary, or Close Enough

  1. Hannah, your writing shows that you have not given up, you will get through this period with such a strong sense of self, and you will look back on your words with understanding and love. Refuel and Release and Chocolate!

  2. Hi! Thanks for writing, Hannah. It’s comforting to know that somewhere in this city, there is someone else, whose head is also filled with the what and where and how and cover letters and testing pinterest recipes and writing unsent letter in my little notebook. I love the wealth of experiences and self-made fun this city has to offer but it’s overwhelming how lonely it can be standing amidst all these seemingly busy people.
    Here’s my offer: I think there’s not much else more comforting than gathering around a table of good food and sharing stories. I cooked a whole lot and believe that you do, as well. If you ever feel the need for a change of scenery, I’m always up for a supper club, a recipe swap, a cook off or a cafe hopping, whatever you fancy. The chances are I might be in need of a change in scenery as well.

    • Hi Tra! There is definitely someone else. (And, judging by my inbox lately, quite a few somebody elses!) Thank you so much for reading, and for reaching out too. I’d love to talk about a recipe swap or something like that! Why don’t you send me an email so I have yours? It’s hcnickerson {at} gmail {dot} com. Hang in there and have a good Sunday!

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