Happy Bastille Day.
I danced, arm in arm, with a few of the beautiful women who work at Gemplus with me.
I juggled, back and forth with Simon, our charming little intern, I swapped more drug stories with Peter, and talked of the old punk scene with Patrick (pronounced in froggy), the crypto-obsessed guy down the hall.
Gargantuan catered barbecue, we were out on the lawn by 11:30, dancing and pestering the DJ under the colossal white tent to play that REALLY LOUD SONG by Jacques Brel (starts with "Fal-somthing...").
We stomped the Marseilleise, talked of the mountains in Grenoble, and of the way the Chateau D'If sneaks up on you as you're hanging over the side of a six-person Catamaran in Cassis, near the head office of Gemplus.
Peter and I took off around 2, too sun-drenched to work, and headed to the Canadian Tire to buy water bottles and camping stuff - he's heading up north with a bunch of the GemSafe crew, I'm in the midst of trying to find a backpack for New York.
We leave in a handful of hours, we'll be back sometime Wednesday night.
I'm excited for H2K, for the concert, for the shopping trip to the juggling store and hunting for satin corsets.
The anxiety attack is quietly abating, but there are things I will have to resolve after I get back.
After I get back.
In the meantime, I kiss the world adieu and prepare to disappear awhiles.
And in the back of my mind I worry about John, who wandered home just as I was leaving this morning, covered in bruises and bandaging from his car accident.
Stupid fucker pushed himself just a little too far this time, and drugged with sleep and the last dregs of alcohol from a long night, rear-ended an elderly couple not two blocks from home.
Everyone's okay, the car is totaled but insured, but Johnny looked to tired and frail and beat-up, and all he did was hop in the shower and head out to work again.
I can't say anything. I have a glorious scar shaping my left eyebrow from precisely the same hijinks last year. Fell asleep at the wheel, barely made it off the bridge before watching the world spin around the car.
Chuckies is in town, driving a rental car for the first time in his life.
I'm worried.
But if I knew how to take care of myself, maybe I'd start preaching. In the meantime, I'm just gritting my teeth, dragging my pack out of the closet, and wishing everyone the times of their lives, because I've already had and loved mine.
And will continue to do so as long as I can.
As long as a monstre can.