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2017-08-02 - 8:50 a.m.

I write to you from this clean soft white-sheeted (white sheets are the best, the most luxurious. Ben won't let us get them because "they get dirty".) bed in my tiny room at the Orchard Street Hotel. I know it is ludicrous to have paid so much just to spend a night in my old neighborhood, for the ease of getting ready here and strutting to the Delaney for Shelly's birthday party. No, it was worth it. Immediately I missed my cat, who was my main companion on this block, and I had to call to see what he was doing. I looked out the window to the right. Hey, there's the carcass of "Red Man Go" (still one of michael's funniest jokes) and the Lavanderia that once had a fire and who washed all of our cat pee-covered clothes. Out the window, the view is of my old roof, where I used to smoke and fuck and once cried because I felt lonely when M contemplated having kids with Megan, and put an arm around me comfortingly. Behind me is west, New Jersey and home. Left is Brooklyn, and to my right is all of manhattan. I'm on the seventh floor.
Shelly's party was great. The roof was beautiful. 7 years ago exactly Jess took those pictures of Sue and me up there, both dressed in leopard print, posing among the plants.
In the bathroom I thought, I'm feeling a feeling I don't know the word for. It's a mix of longing and good memories and grief. Not nostalgia- homesickness for a home you can never go home to again. Like how I cried the time I had Ben drive past the house I grew up in. I just wanted to go home so bad.
I still can't mind my own business and be happy where I am. I always need to know what YOU'RE doing and if it's better. I can't stand parties for this reason. I'm talking to you, but my head is craning around. Who's here? What am I missing? I think I'm so isolate-y and introverted, but I also need to talk to everyone and feel unsatisfied if I don't. My being is pure FOMO. I could have stayed longer; there are people I didn't even get to say hi to. I can't just appreciate my real, real friends who actually love me. High school was like this. Women's meetings, with their focus on fellowship, are like this.
I had anxiety dreams all night about Laura S, and when I saw her smiling face on IG this am I felt so sad that I couldn't tell her I dreamed of her.
I'm drinking coffee in this bed, still tired (by I stayed up until almost 12!). I'm getting the most out of this room before I have to leave.

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