My parents live in Chicagoland, which means I spent my holiday driving in inclement weather. I drove through fog on Friday and a rainstorm on Saturday. One of my favorite things to do in Chicago is drive north on Lake Shore Drive with the windows down and sing along to the radio, but this is only the best in June and July. In December, I sing along to the radio as I dodge pot holes and try not to crash through the orange cones along the shoulder. I play the radio magic game, which is when you pretend that every song is just for you. John Mayer wants me to say what I need to say and Beyoncee wants me to put my hands up.
I told my mom that I wrote a piece about New Mexico for my writing class and everyone said, "The parents are weird in this."
"I failed," I said. "In writing it."
"Maybe we are weird," she said.
It's nice to be back in New York. I feel like I've been here long enough (in consecutive months) that anywhere else feels unlike home. Hattie's here. I just found out that someone who snubbed me at a party a couple months ago for not being in an MFA program works at the same magazine as me, except this person is an intern, and I am paid in dollars. Leigh for the win.