The Debate Continues

Prepping for my upcoming New York visit has me back on the sea of indecision. I talked to one of my belovedest friends last week and just wept a few hours later. Hormones? I don't know. I think some of it is missing the way friendships were in my early twenties--when we stayed out all night smoking, drinking and dancing, then hit San Loco and ate greasy nachos. When everyone was every part of your life. I know it crept dangerously close to codependency, and that's probably not the healthiest thing. Then again, neither were the nachos.

A few days later, I was celebrating the affordability of life here, and the fact that I can see my parents and my sister and Harry can play fetch in our yard (well, in the way that only he would play fetch).

Today, perusing the New York Times' food section, I read a review for one of my all-time favorites, Florent. And we're back in the missing zone.

Sometimes I have to remind myself that for every drunken night at Big Bar or splashy opening party with a goodie bag or celeb spotting at brunch, there were countless more days spent alone in my apartment watching crappy television and binge-eating. And that's not really what I want either.