3 hours and 20 bucks

August 19, 2001

almost-missed trains and fires under bridges and getting stranded in an unknown place and a demagnetized atm card strip and a cab ride with five strangers and late night “hi, can you come get me?” calls and almost running out of quarters and sitting on the warm pavement, waiting and waiting and waiting. that was my friday night.

“i can’t get over the details,” said matt, snipping away at my hair this morning. “it’s just crazy.”

“i know,” i said.

it’s the kind of story you tell when you come home from a trip to a foreign land, somewhere exotic and exciting — not san diego. those kinds of things just don’t happen here, at least not to me.

i know i had everyone worried sick, and that in turn made me worry sick, but you know, i never once was afraid for my well being. there is always a way to get from point A to point B, there is always someone willing to lend a helping hand, there is always a mysterious turn of luck.

throughout the night, i couldn’t help but smile to myself, because i felt alive. crazy and stressed and guilty and sad and tired and hungry, maybe, but alive nonetheless. it was like somebody pinched me hard and i finally woke up.


  • I'm Christine, and this is a slice of my life—a sweet, rich, wildly indulgent slice that would taste really good with a scoop of Breyers vanilla bean ice cream. Read more >>

  • I run a darling, friendly, little graphic design studio.
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    I take photos. Lots of photos.
    I wish on stars and on websites.

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    I launched, then relaunched, an online magazine.
    I admitted to several embarrassing crushes.
    I consumed more bacon than any human should and lived to tell the tales.

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