my heart is in the bathroom.

if you grew up in a house of girls like i did, you know there's very little that's considered "personal" space. a room can be entered on will (except during those times a door must be locked to avoid a sister who's either trying to bite or scratch your arm or whose chasing demands that you find safety behind closed doors), a phone conversation can be interrupted, and a bathroom can be equally shared no matter what the purpose of its occupants.

i love that. i love when god provides me with the kind of friends that go to the bathroom with the door open. i suppose i think of it more now because for the first time in a long time, i just don't have that.

i talked to my old roommate kat on the phone tonight. and she makes me miss chicago so much. right now, home is not where my heart is. this apartment is great, and i'm so grateful that god provided me with an affordable option that's clean and near my sister and brother-in-law and that i'm thankful that i get to share it with a great girl. but it's still not where my heart is.

my heart is in chicago , walking west on waveland home from work, listening to ryan adams' "friends" on my ipod. it's sitting on our front porch, grilling out with erin and kat and lucas. it's meeting erik for drinks at the hopleaf and talking about life. it's eating breakfast at mitchell's (it will always be mitchell's even if its name has changed) with my favorite waitress deborah talking about her bad back. it's drinking stella at guthrie's, playing connect four and ordering pizza in for me and kat while we wait for erin to arrive. it's taking the el downtown and watching people interact out of the corner of my eye. it's sipping kat's strong, bitter coffee in my mug on the way to clark to catch the #22. it's in my old neighborhood, my old office, my old house.

what prevents me from mourning this loss is that i am simultaneously looking forward to a new home for my heart. i'm eager for the day that my heart doesn't feel like it leaves when he does at 12:30 in the morning when a simple goodbye takes much longer than it used to when we were "just friends." i could go on .... for your sake, i won't :)

so my heart feels like it has two homes, and neither are right here, right now.

i could probably pray something good and right like, "god help me to be content with the here and now." but instead, i find myself saying something more like this:

"god, i want a friend who keeps the bathroom door open."

i know people grow up and mature and get more private. i know weekend retreats like the one i had in august where all of us girls giggled into the night aren't as likely the older i get, when sleep is precious and necessary to a degree i haven't needed since my mom put me down for naps. i know we have less time for each other as we make more commitments, take more classes, pile on more responsibilities.

maybe i'll never get that intimacy again, when someone's day was so important to share that the power of the bladder couldn't stop her from continuing her story. for the first time in my life, there aren't girls angling to get closer to the mirror to apply mascara or moving me out of the way to spit toothpaste in the sink. there are no moments when i'm telling a story in the kitchen and have to sit in the hallway near the bathroom to finish up while erin pees (i was trying to avoid the actual word, but it is what it is, people). it's those little things that - when the drama disappears - i discover at the foundation of my relationship with my girlfriends.

i guess this was really just to thank you, kat. for our conversation, for your friendship, and, well, for leaving the bathroom door open. i miss you.