Like a Summer Rose, I'm a Victim of the Fall...

It's ironic (yet fitting) that I'm awake earlier on this bruised Saturday morning than any day during the week. Restless thoughts and a cool breeze.

Fall is absolutely my favorite season. I think it suits my baser instincts. I love the glam, glitz, and frenetic of Fun sometimes. But, on some level, I just want to burrow into a fleece blanket and dream of Thanksgiving & fried turkeys. I think if hard-pressed, however, I'd really have to say the best season(s) are the moments of intangible inbetween change. Does that even make sense? Can grey be my favorite color? The turn of a season is always the best part of it. All of a sudden the cool weather feels like a welcome respite against a too-hot summer. I embrace Fall's insistence that it's time to pack away the bikini and open up the sweater box. But, come February, I will be only too grateful for snow. I'll yearn for the cleanness of it in contrast to the rotted and browned leaves gathering on the sidewalk. So, maybe I'm just fickle.

Either way, fall will always be my favorite RUNNING season. I took myself (like usual) to Roosevelt Island yesterday. I adore the Teddy Roosevelet monument. I love everything about it. I love that it's snobbishly distant from the Smiths and the Mall. I love that when you stumble upon it, you always feel a little bit surprised that it still exists. I love that it makes me feel like I'm in one of those Post-Apocalypse Movies where civilization has been destroyed, and a renegade forest sprung up around this oasis of beautifully carved marble and stone bridges. I love that it's never crowded, and I love that this makes me feel like the entire monument is actually Mine.

After my run, I promptly took myself to U Street and discovered The Gibson. A nice little joint hidden behind an unlabeled black door, it's undeniably swank speakeasy. A good place to sit and entertain Fall drinking habits: slow, deliberate, and savored. It will eventually become terrible, but for now, it's balancing the popularity of its anonymity well. I promptly made friends with the bartender when we mutually rolled our eyes at the dame next to me who inquired:

"Uhm, what's the girlest drink you have? I, like, don't even know what half these things on the menu are!"

If you wanted a cosmo, darling, you should've stuck to Dupont. After an Old-Fashioned, the bartender insisted I try a Sazerac. Not a bad drink, however, a iPhone google search revealed it contains absinthe. Lady Bartender had neglected to mention this. Uh oh.

Finally, we made our way to Ben's Chili Bowl and I ordered a half-smoke with chili/cheese fries. (There is a fat kid inside of me dying to get out, I tell you). This was the most delicious thing I have ever eaten. I was literally licking the chili off the tin foil when I was finished. Although. Maybe that was the absinthe.

After making my way home, I tucked in and forgot to pull the shades. I woke up this morning to a grey window and stoic emotions.

The thing is this: I love citylife.

But, how can I be thirsting for more when the city already offers so much? Will I ever be satisfied?

Currently Listening: Ben Harper - Morning Yearning.