a saturday night

tonight i made a big mug of tea and changed into my pajamas at seven. it's cold. it's february. and i have absolutely no desire to traipse around dc. instead i wanted a lot of time just to myself. i'm finding that this is the case a lot lately. i derive a lot of pleasure from slowing down, climbing into bed with a book, writing letters, working on whatever new project i've dreamed up.

when said and i moved into our apartment i dedicated a bookcase in our artsy room to my journals, the twenty-odd moleskines i've filled up since my 18th birthday. and sometimes when i'm really needing some advice i come to them, sit down on the floor cross-legged and read back over the past six years. things haven't really changed that much. some of the major players have changed - new loves, new friends, new coffeeshops - but all in all the girl writing years ago is still someone i recognize. sometimes someone i painfully miss. and sometimes someone i'm glad i have a few years on. but no matter what, the dreams i had then haven't changed a bit and i feel that i'm still s l o w l y but surely moving towards them.

i came across this entry tonight with a passage from sabrina ward harrison. i fell in love with her first book when i was in highschool and have come back to her books as often as i come back to my own journals.

"so much checking email, catching the train, grabbing lunch. i want a painting room. i want morning glories climbing overhead. i want great mix tapes and backyard wine drinking. i want really low-key folks. i want to give it up. give up the competition. the city thrives on it. the standards are so high. what really rests at the top? i don't like seeing myself in the mirror trying to get there. i look trashy when i do. i look better camping. i feel better in pjs and socks. where can i go that is simple anymore?"