February, 2004.
On the near edge of 30, individualized to the point of simply
realizing that I've got it just as good (or bad) as the next guy,
with variables ranging from my bad mood on a particular day to
how much snowfall can one girl possibly take when it already takes
an hour to get to work by public transport to random circumstance.
I live in a neighborhood that is primarily Mexican and Polish.
There is a chaotic and mostly invisible gangland just to the south
of my apartment, and bodegas not only on the street corners, but
mid-block as well. I dig chilecuiles and crave other dishes with
tomatillo in them. My commute drops me in the middle of skyscrapers
and financial centers every weekday morning, and I must admit
that I still get a little rush of excitement when I jog up the
steps to the surface level. It happens in any major city I've
been to where I've had to come up from a subway tunnel into the
light - suddenly, you've gone from sewer rat existence packed
in with fellow (smelly, over-perfumed, cowering, mean, meek, ill,
inconsequential, fascinating) humans to the expanse that is downtown
Chicago. Metal sculptures loom large and the sky, in February,
is a flat grey ceiling, too bright to look at, too dim to cheer
one up at 7:30 AM on a Thursday.
I don't remember much of my 30th birthday party. The one rule
was to have a rum and coke permanently refreshed in the cup I
was holding, and that rule was adhered to admirably. It's probably
the mark of a good 30th that I am still hearing little
bits and pieces come back to me about that day. I made it through
the other side, unscathed, a little bit older, and totally not
hungover.
I have one brother, a father out in California, and a mom who
remarried and supplied us with a whole, sprawling suburban stepfamily.
I feel sometimes like I have too many friends to keep up with,
and I spend a lot of time worrying over how I am going to keep
in touch with them consistently. It's been about a year and a
half since I broke up with a boyfriend of five years - a few of
those years were spent in a sort of paralytic apathy that I didn't
realize was happening until I was in the thick of it. By that
point, I was fairly entrenched, and it took a lot of nerve to
pull myself out of it. Sadly, I realized that I was pulling down
the ex, and I was increasingly frustrated with holding that burden
in my heart and seeing the strain it put on our relationship.
We came to a mostly mutual agreement to end it, and I somehow
found a place to live on my own.
I work for a software company running the switchboard, and I
have a girlfriend named Svetlana. I act in plays, I write a lot,
I create immersive games,
I play video games, I sing, and I read a lot of books.