Apr. 15th, 2006

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There is a certain luxury in spending the first part of one's morning snuggled cozily in bed, watching the Battlestar Galactica miniseries from a few years back, and then, when hungry, toddling into the kitchen for a smoothie and a pot of chai tea, along with some more BSG.

Mom was in the city to pick up a large jar of white borscht that my uncle makes every year for Easter, so on the way back home, she came by and got me. The weather was just about perfect: cool sweet air and warm bright sunshine. I sat on my laundry bag and read a few pages of a book as I waited for her.

My brother's in town, which is nice, since I hardly even had a chance to really start missing him again after traveling to Houston last weekend. Ro treated us to Wildfire, which is Ty's favorite restaurant. I don't eat much red meat at all, so when I have something like filet medallions (I got a trio, each with their own crust. Mushroom, bleu cheese, and horseradish!), I feel a bit woozy and over-full afterwards, for about an hour. It's kinda weird. But everything was quite tasty, and the waitress (who was very pretty and had gorgeous hair twisted into two long braids) put up with Ro's jokiness very well. It was nice to have that little family set together again. Brandy called Ty during the meal, and when Ty made me answer the phone, she didn't hear my greeting so well. So she said, "hey, honey!" and I enthusiastically replied, "hi, honey! What's shakin'?" and she was terribly confused and then she realized it was just me, and then I handed the phone back so I could sip more water and my martini, which was all coffee liqeur and caramel syrup. Holy crap yum.

I am currently sitting on an air mattress, all tucked under blankets in the middle of the bedroom I used to live in when I lived in this house. The far-off traffic sounds are still the same, and the stillness of the house is eerily familiar. I stayed overnight here recently, but somehow staying in this particular room is bringing up lots of memories for me. 12 years ago, I moved here from Oak Park, and lasted out approximately four years before jumping into a tiny two-bedroom with ye olde boyfriend Scott in Ukrainian Village. So many stories, pieces of me. Aspects of myself were shattered and re-formed here. I used to park my station wagon out on the curved drive near the front door. I used to dye my hair black. I used to gank my friend's co-worker's dial-up so that I had a telnet connection on my 286 so I could talk to a LD boyfriend as much as possible, waiting until everyone had gone to bed so I could use the landline.

Tomorrow's Easter, so I suppose I had better set my phone's alarm and sleep the sleep of the well-sated and memory-plagued.

The air is cool and sweet, and everything's so quiet.


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