Note to self : Don't do dishes in a white satin nighty because you know that you always get water all over the place, and sopping white satin, while it's definitely a look, isn't necessarily the one for you.
Yesterday tugged at my heartstrings from so many directions that I still have the impression of some great tapestry woven about inside my thorax.
(Thorax has been a pet word of mine ever since we learned about ants in the second grade.)
Yesterday morning Pierre called, Pierre, of the three people that I originally moved back to Europe for. Pierre who taught me to juggle, Pierre who taught me origami, Pierre who taught me meticulousness if it matters enough, a different sort of courage, and a whole new serenity.
Pierre, who has been shuttling between Marseilles and Sweden working on his thesis on fuzzy logic demons, who called because he wants to stop by Paris in early September to hug a monstre.
I hadn't gotten up the courage to call him that I was leaving yet.
He's going to try to make it for this next weekend, instead, but there were large tears forming in unspoken places when it hit home that I wouldn't be a train ride away anymore.
He's going to have to visit Toronto, of course, but he has a more difficult time fitting in countries in between countries than I do.
THe afternoon was quiet after that. Cleaning around the piles of stuff that needs arranging, searching the web for places to sell my stuff, arranging some of the piles, re-arranging them, stealing quiet moments to delve further into this book that speaks far too loudly in my dreamer's mind.
I am reading it slowly and carefully, memorizing the very atmosphere in which it was written.
Last night was a quiet dinner planned by Seb to celebrate his birthday a little more intimately. Just me and him and Sophie, when she suggested Indian food, I suggested the restaurant right downstairs where we know each other by name and stop to say hello every morning.
The head waiter asked about that girl that was living with me, the beautiful one that had stopped by for take-out so many months ago.
He was talking about Princess. He was very disappointed to hear that she was an ocean away.
The waitress, my partner in crime, joined elbows with me and we picked on Seb and his inability to support spice, commented on this or that of our choices, brought us complimentary aperitifs and ran off to the kitchen to ask how to make the sag paneer (spinach with cheese) that for some reason tastes so different when they make it than when I've usually had it, and when the cook said something complicated, they whisked me off to the kitchen for a discussion.
Gita (which means song in Sanskrit), was delighted when I explained to her that the tomato-onion thing the cook was warbling about was just a base, that you didn't actually put tomatoes in with the spinach. It was disturbing her that she couldn't see any red.
Later, she exclaimed to Sophie how happy she was that I was living upstairs and Seb blurted out that it wasn't for long anymore.
In her usual extroverted fashion, she didn't hold back in the least and proceeded to give me hell in front of the whole restaurant that it was very cruel of me to get her so attached and then just up and leave for some other country.
"I know." I said.
The next hour was filled with occasional outbursts, the all-too-familiar sort that I've done so many times. "Who's going to explain parisian mentality to me now?!?" "You mean in two weeks I won't have your good mornings to look forward to anymore?!?" and on and forth.
With each exclamantion, Seb grew just a little more quiet, but Sophie's reaction to the wine (Indian Ros�! I'd never heard of it before) was sudden talkativeness and she filled the silence for us.
Eventually, even she pointed out what a shame it was that we'd only bonded so recently, a handful of months ago, how she's just going to have to come visit...
She's gotten addicted to hugs too.
We stayed long past closing, talking to Gita and the other Waiter, sharing mango liqueur and cardamom tea and discussing a thousand shining things.
Eventually, the kids came back up here for one last digestif, and then they left for the night and at one in the morning my appartment was far too quiet.
I sat, and stared at this tapestry woven about my heart, long into the night, fell asleep dreaming dreams of the sort of love I was afraid to believe in as a terrified and angry little girl.
I am so surrounded by it, as I explained to Seb and my cousin and so many people lately, that this melancholy is a sweeter pain than a thousand free lunches.