Living Here

My bedroom door has become half-disconnected - by which I mean that the top hinge has come unhinged. Or rather, the hinge device itself has come off the wall, so the hinge still works, theoretically, except that it can't do its job as long as the hingy-plate-piece-thingy no longer fastens to anything. (See, this is why I can't be an architect.) Anyway, the door is useless. But that's not the most annoying thing in my life.

That would be this: My new black ballet flats, which are good quality and which I bought for just 50% of their intended price, are well beyond adorable. I've gotten at least one compliment on them at every single wearing. Unfortunately, they cause raging, angry blisters on my hours-long weekend walks around Mount Vernon, my favorite neighborhood in Baltimore. This means that I'm unable to pull off both cute shoes and a jaunty step. I have to choose, as Carrie Bradshaw never did.

I choose the neighborhood. My long walks are the light of my life and that's no exaggeration - think what you will. Mount Vernon is the closest to Europe I feel in Baltimore, and it isn't expensive to get to or bursting with good conversation I can't understand to overhear. This is the season when it's booked solid with markets, festivals, and events. I make the fifteen-minute commute every weekend, as early as 8am if I must. I'll miss none of it.

And that has surprised me very much, my love for Baltimore. Four years ago, I was hoping I wouldn't end up here. I wasn't shocked, though, when I did end up here; I never ever manage to get what I want. But as it turns out, I'm pretty good at wanting what I get. Lately, when I think about following some dream to New York City - or even the much-fantasized-about Europe - it exhausts me. I like it here, where if my shoes don't fit, there's a doorless room full of more comfortable options just up the road.