Bottle of St-Emillion nestled in an all-too-familiar brown paper bag, my white tux-party-shirt with a cufflink that went missing at approximately 10am this morning (not half an hour after I'd warned the roommate that I was taking good care of his cufflinks), a rubber collar in the bag and a tube of sparkle-gel.
Don't wait up for me...
I need to let go.
The slowing down is painful. Last friday I actually managed to reply to one of Steven's all-encompassing metaphysical masterpieces-in-e-mail-form, and spewed somethingorother about how I might just be finished wearing monstre-masks.
The past couple of years have been as intense as ever.
I've been downright monstrous in learning new confidence, climbing out of the terrified-to-speak hole. I've set out carefully meted out goals and last week, essentially met the last ones.
It's obviously time to set new goals. I new that a week ago.
So why am I still peering nervously down various paths trying to see where they lead?
This weekend held a handful of epiphanies, but I'm afraid of how mundane they are.
I was called a "social hurricane" on the one hand proving how far I've come from the drowning of the wallflower, and on the other... Axis accused me of not changing.
All of our conversations, in some strange light strike me as preposterous - blind accusations of who I am based on experience, and my blind, flailing reactions based on arrogant belief that everyone's an idiot.
Obviously, we're both underestimating everything. Obviously I'm not listening hard enough. Obviously... Obviously I'm missing something.
Because it never used to take this long. I'm wandering around, blind to myself, never more than a third aware, hearing cliches that I've proved and disproved a hundred times and thinking them wise again.
I'm losing it, so tonight, we let got.
Posh dinner, heady wine, and then Foufs for the first time in a few weeks.
And if ten thousand hugs don't set me somewhat straight, then I'm in serious trouble.
Because I'm not thinking right today.