Oh, immune system. You were doing so well! I guess the crash had to come eventually. I don’t really understand how changing weather and nasty colds are related, but they definitely seem to be. I’m feeling better today than yesterday, but my throat still feels like it’s closing in on itself.
In other news, I have 95% made a decision on where to go next fall, and it’s looking like Washington, DC! I think the program fit me best, and they offered me funding (so they must think I fit them, right?), and I think it will be a really great place to live for a few years… Which isn’t to say that any of the other places wouldn’t, it just feels right. So this months-long process of test-taking and essay-writing and interviewing and waiting comes to a close. It’s time to settle back into life at home for a few months and not let the apartment-finding, exorbitant-rent-paying anticipation get to me just yet. But if you do know people in the DC area who I could talk to about the practicalities of finding a place and living there, please let me know…
AND: Denver Love Letter #11: Sputnik
I find that when I get a little stressed I cling to the same places over and over again. Often those places are bars, and the closer to home, the better. Can you believe I lived in my neighborhood almost a year (granted, a year in which I didn’t really drink much) before Christopher said, “OMG, mojitos!” and dragged me into Sputnik for what would turn into one of those fantastic early summer afternoon bouts of delightful drunkenness? It quickly became a favorite and my default bar for a quick drink or a local night out. At first I felt like I didn’t fit in — hair too natural and uncolored, jeans not skinny enough, only a couple of band t-shirts and zero t-shirts with ironic prints referencing 80s cartoons. But whatever, I’m a librarian and I live here and that seems to be enough. It’s a homey feeling to sink into a booth with a group of friends (or, once, my mom), eat some sweet potato fries, and enjoy the scene(ry). And even Sputnik’s worst nights only mean that you had a run-in with someone who wounded your heart (and has fun without you, as well as good taste in places and music, if not in post-you women) and the DJ is heckling your table because someone asked her to play Stevie Nicks.