a list of favourite things
dates, anniversaries, and the magic of silk dresses
Hi my angels,
It’s 11:55 on May 14th. I cannot sleep because, I cannot find a place to live. Is moving the number 2 stressor in the world after divorce? I can’t remember, but all I know is that this is one of those situations where you just have to keep praying that something will work out.
Isn’t it scary when praying becomes your only option? I guess we have no choice but fall into this feeling of both helplessness and surrendering - but it’s wild because praying has never let us down before. So you just have to hold on to hope and faith and the universe and whoever and whatever god looks like to you. Someone has your back out there, and I keeping telling myself that someone has to have my back out there, too.
It’s now 12:00 am and it is officially the anniversary of my mom’s death. May is a weird month. It’s a month full of numbers and anniversaries and dates and memories and new feelings and new moments being made and being remembered. A month that wants to push me forward, but a month that also wants me to reflect.
I don’t know how this newsletter will go, mainly because my melatonin is kicking in and I will probably start type-slurring and who knows what and god knows what will come out of my mouth.
Friday was peak mercury retrograde. I saw a shitty apartment, got stood up for a date, and got mud splashed on me. So, I said to myself - Emily Mais, you probably should stay inside tonight. I was committed to spend the evening on my couch sitting and spiraling. But, after FaceTiming a friend and getting put in my place: “EMILY. GO FOR A WALK”, I threw on one of my favourite wine coloured silk dresses and a pair of white block heels, and decided to go to one of my new favourite bars to edit an article (an article which I was told to re-write because it was too deep). Guys, it’s truly been a rollercoaster of a week.
Anyways, I sat alone in the middle of crowded bar on a Friday night - which, in itself, is a form of poetry. I’d like to think that me and the bartender are friends now, or maybe that’s just me and I have a hopeful assumption about everyone I meet who is nice to me. And I wrote, and edited, and re-read, and was annoyed that I had to edit, and probably drank too much tequila, but I did it. And the best part was - no one bothered me.
I thought about this week, and how it started annoying with my ex (re: last newsletter). Then I thought about how great work was, and how much fun these newsletters are and about who I’m meeting and what I’m writing about. I thought about the shitty apartment but then thought about my silk dress and the good alcohol and the Buffalo mozzarella that was my breakfast lunch and dinner.
And I thought about 5 years ago. I thought about holding a lifeless hand and watching my dad put a love letter in the other hand. I thought about the blue nightgown and about the sun and the orchids on the windowsill. I thought about the pain and I thought about the relief. I thought about the end of routine hospital visits. I thought about the bins of empty orange bottles, how we could finally throw away the papers with side effects, and how I wouldn’t have to see another nurse’s face at my front door.
When I think of the ending to one’s life, I think of a swimming pool. And I think of someone closing their eyes, and jumping in. And how we will sink to the bottom and hope that there is some force out there to bring us to the surface. Which is almost like a prayer in itself.
Can I be honest with you? I just took off my glasses to wipe a few tears off my face. But I want to keep writing to you. Because I want to share a list of my favourite things, because I can only talk about prayers and death and anniversaries and numbers for so long.
The Things We’ll Always Love:
Lambrusco and silk dresses on a Friday night. Preferably a Lambrusco coloured silk dress worn at a dark bar where no one bothers you, except the bartender who gives you life advice when prompted.
When the cheese guy tells me he’ll see me domani, and I respond with “si,si” - because it’s the only phrase I can confidentially understand in Italian.
Accepting help from strangers who start to feel like family after 20 minutes.
Praying.
Being called baby, and getting a table for one at a busy restaurant and sitting across from the woman making homemade pasta.
I used to hate being called baby, but now I love it?
Saying “Ciao, Patritzia” after my 5 pm Pinot Grigio at my favourite wine bar.
Smelling like cigarettes without actually smoking one.
A blue slip dress to bed tonight because my pajamas are in the laundry.
Debating on living on the coast for the month of June and finally finishing Failing Gracefully.
Leaving it up to destiny.
Realizing that everyone needs a nonno who makes paninis in Florence for them and a guy in Rome who gives them free Buffalo mozzarella.
Realizing also that everyone needs a close friends list on IG to give you advice on your loser ex who is mad that no one is as unhappy as he is.
2 cold showers a day for 30 degree weather.
The emerald green dress from Zara and new sandals on a Sunday because Sundays are reserved for you and for prayer.
Your new crush who will always stay just a crush, because you’re smart enough to know better. But you still listen to his favourite songs, anyway.
Roses are everywhere. Actually, I think roses might be eternal.
And speaking of eternal, I don’t want this to end. Because for the first time in years, everything that I’ve ever looked forward to is here. It’s not in 6 months or 18 months or 3 weeks. I don’t have to keep repeating “just hold on a little while longer”. She’s never let me down, and that’s what I keep telling myself.
I’ll build a home here.
And I think that’s it for tonight. Let’s pray my melatonin kicks in, and I’ll wake up in the morning to sunshine, the wrinkles on my slip dresses, and an answer to some of my prayers.
I love you,
Emily