Time for a text-break.
Gotta sit and scrawl something before I burn myself on the iron, or forget that THIS IS A WEEKEND.
Saturday afternoon, I'm enjoying my alone time.
Almost much as I enjoyed it last night, out on the terrace at O'Donnel's, got there good and early, sun still out, Chris dropped by, so did a handful of people, one at a time as if they'd planned it, were standing in line around the corner in some other plane of existence, waiting their turn for a one on one.
Oh how terribly arrogant, but I loved it. Loved the thorough lack of crowd, the slow enjoyment of throwing words back and forth with friends, rather than spectators at some gathering spurned by another monstrous e-mail.
I ironed my only almost feminine blouse today, found a non-offensive skirt. I'm spending tommorrow at a wedding in a synagogue, half-curious but too pressed for time to really think about it.
I'm calling Marc in a few hours, to play shrooms with some friends.
I finished watching "Malarek, the streetkid who made it", that's been sitting on a shelf masquerading amongst Johnny's mountain-biking/hotdogger-skiing/motocross videos.
Took me four attempts to get all the way through, and it's not even that stellar an emotional-triggering movie.
It's set in Montreal. That kills me. Malarek would have flashes of being thrown into juvie hall, like the kids he was investigating, and I'd sit there and wonder where the pangs have gone.
I miss them...
I miss "Jake" and Kim, I miss that colossal guy with the skull-and-crossbones patch replacing the back pocket on his tattered jeans. I never knew his name but I remember the secret thrill when he'd laugh at something I'd said.
I miss believing that nothing could ever break him. I guess nothing really did, I'm sure he went down proud. I wouldn't know, I only heard about it at some party weeks later, reminding myself not to look like it bothered me.
It feels strange thinking about it now, in another life, where my greatest obstacles are trading quips with ubercool friends.
I can't remember the way anyone smelled right now, the lavender from last night's reading candle is still painting my tall white walls.
The clothes littering my floor, my clothes, though today I can't recognize them, are begging to be hand-washed and hung round my fancy bed to dry.
The canopy bed I'd always dreamed about.
So what am I dreaming about now?