Drained, suddenly
Aug. 31st, 2002 12:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
enteleinThis has been quite a week.
Monday night, online stuff and responsibilities.
Tuesday night I saw Signs with my friend Sam. We sat in a mostly-empty theatre and walked out of it after feeling sort of confused. I'm still not sure whether I liked the movie or not. It was still nice to spend time with Sam, and to have it be a little break from our weekly lunch get-togethers, where we eat chopped salad and update each other on our respective breakups. His is a bit more heavy-duty than mine, but it seems like he has a better grip, has a healthy modicum of resolve. He helps me see there is a throughline, a cord that stretches through this fog and miasma of intermittent anger and pain and sadness and confusion. Plus, he's funny as hell. Oh, and he actually laughs at my jokes. That's a pretty good compliment right there.
Wednesday's child is full of woe. I mean, Wednesday night I carpooled with![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
clea_the_cat out to the 'burbs to watch wildsoda play hockey.
It was a sincerely good time. It felt good to sit in a chair and swing my legs and feel the cold of the ice coming up towards me, in spite of us being in the swan song of August. My nose got a little cold, but mostly I was warm and covered, and so I got to laugh and point (good-naturedly, of course) atclea_the_cat's sandaled shoes and her murmured exclamations of, "My toes are turning blue!" At one point she had tucked one leg up underneath herself and then held the toes of her other foot in her hand, sleeve pulled down to provide as much insulation as possible. wildsoda, in a fit of niceness and hockey hyperness, convinced us all (her best friend Scott and her father were also there to see her play) to come to Margie's and have a sundae on her. I mean, er, it was her treat.
So we sat in aging vinyl-backed booths and ooh'ed and ahh'ed over the amazing-looking chocolate creams in the display case, glad the place was open even at 11 PM in the middle of the week. I got a raspberry sundae, replete with french vanilla scoops and wafer cookies and a metal cup filled with juicy raspberries and syrup. It was simple, and good. I felt a little quiet, but I was so immensely enjoying myself that I simply watched the interplay between father and daughter, between friends, the smiles and the quick-wit jokes. All too soon, all too soon, it was time to go.
Hugs goodbye, offers of places to stay in New York and in Prague, when that time came. A weird casual wistfulness descended.clea_the_cat dropped me back home. I was up until 2 AM, feeling the week weighing me down, feeling the sugar of raspberries and ice cream buzzing me and making me feel almost drunk with sleepiness and calories.
Yesterday, that Thursday bitch, she was a bad day. I spent most of it on the very edge of a panic attack, and it was only saved from blossoming by reading the book I had with me, Round Ireland with a Fridge, by Tony Hawks. I got home in time to decompress and straighten my thoughts a bit before my brother and his wife, my dad, and his girlfriend showed up to pick me up.
We saw Blue Man Group over at Briar Street, my third time going. My dad, in his classic "shortcut really means longcut" fashion declared and asserted that showtime was at 7 PM, which seemed odd to me. Will-Call at the box office informed him that curtain was actually at 8, and so we'd hurried over with no dinner for nothing. Armed with a new, unspent hour, we walked up the block and decided quickly on Cesar's, a gaudily-decorated Mexican place in the spot where Scenes Cafe used to be.
A pitcher of most excellent raspberry margaritas later, we were full and smiling from what a good, random choice Cesar's turned out to be. I had steak flautas. I even managed to have some of the salsa, which was just spicy enough to challenge me.
The blue men were entertaining as usual, even though the show has not changed one whit since the first time I saw it about 4 years ago. Every look, every arm motion, it's all orchestrated, and I found myself zoning out slightly until they got to the more purely musical segments, where I could revel in the tube sounds and the percussion rumble that reached under our feet.
I am hoping to see my dad again Monday evening.
Tonight, I said goodbye to my friend Matt over sushi and sake, at the ever-lovely Pacific Cafe. Too many goodbyes, too many leavings. It was all too much, and as I sat down at the table across from him tonight, I found myself getting all stupid choked up and emotional. After the edamame arrived, and a few sips of the warmed sake slid like green fire down my throat, I felt calmer, a little more able to handle all this change. We talked and talked, and then walked across North Ave., and then parted ways. I'll see him again briefly before he really leaves, but this was a good proper goodbye.
I crossed Milwaukee, thought maybe I'd catch a cab, and then just ended up walking home. The night was velvety dark and all mine, clicks and chirps of insects in the canopies of trees overhead, sodium lights and apartment buildings illuminating everything in city light. My feet hit the pavement in a steady rhythm, my keys opened the locks in my door, my eyes took in the stacks of boxes all around, and suddenly I realized that it didn't drown me so much any more. I was treading. I was not gasping for air.
I'm hoping it wasn't just the sake.
Monday night, online stuff and responsibilities.
Tuesday night I saw Signs with my friend Sam. We sat in a mostly-empty theatre and walked out of it after feeling sort of confused. I'm still not sure whether I liked the movie or not. It was still nice to spend time with Sam, and to have it be a little break from our weekly lunch get-togethers, where we eat chopped salad and update each other on our respective breakups. His is a bit more heavy-duty than mine, but it seems like he has a better grip, has a healthy modicum of resolve. He helps me see there is a throughline, a cord that stretches through this fog and miasma of intermittent anger and pain and sadness and confusion. Plus, he's funny as hell. Oh, and he actually laughs at my jokes. That's a pretty good compliment right there.
Wednesday's child is full of woe. I mean, Wednesday night I carpooled with
clea_the_cat out to the 'burbs to watch wildsoda play hockey. It was a sincerely good time. It felt good to sit in a chair and swing my legs and feel the cold of the ice coming up towards me, in spite of us being in the swan song of August. My nose got a little cold, but mostly I was warm and covered, and so I got to laugh and point (good-naturedly, of course) at
clea_the_cat's sandaled shoes and her murmured exclamations of, "My toes are turning blue!" At one point she had tucked one leg up underneath herself and then held the toes of her other foot in her hand, sleeve pulled down to provide as much insulation as possible. wildsoda, in a fit of niceness and hockey hyperness, convinced us all (her best friend Scott and her father were also there to see her play) to come to Margie's and have a sundae on her. I mean, er, it was her treat.So we sat in aging vinyl-backed booths and ooh'ed and ahh'ed over the amazing-looking chocolate creams in the display case, glad the place was open even at 11 PM in the middle of the week. I got a raspberry sundae, replete with french vanilla scoops and wafer cookies and a metal cup filled with juicy raspberries and syrup. It was simple, and good. I felt a little quiet, but I was so immensely enjoying myself that I simply watched the interplay between father and daughter, between friends, the smiles and the quick-wit jokes. All too soon, all too soon, it was time to go.
Hugs goodbye, offers of places to stay in New York and in Prague, when that time came. A weird casual wistfulness descended.
clea_the_cat dropped me back home. I was up until 2 AM, feeling the week weighing me down, feeling the sugar of raspberries and ice cream buzzing me and making me feel almost drunk with sleepiness and calories.Yesterday, that Thursday bitch, she was a bad day. I spent most of it on the very edge of a panic attack, and it was only saved from blossoming by reading the book I had with me, Round Ireland with a Fridge, by Tony Hawks. I got home in time to decompress and straighten my thoughts a bit before my brother and his wife, my dad, and his girlfriend showed up to pick me up.
We saw Blue Man Group over at Briar Street, my third time going. My dad, in his classic "shortcut really means longcut" fashion declared and asserted that showtime was at 7 PM, which seemed odd to me. Will-Call at the box office informed him that curtain was actually at 8, and so we'd hurried over with no dinner for nothing. Armed with a new, unspent hour, we walked up the block and decided quickly on Cesar's, a gaudily-decorated Mexican place in the spot where Scenes Cafe used to be.
A pitcher of most excellent raspberry margaritas later, we were full and smiling from what a good, random choice Cesar's turned out to be. I had steak flautas. I even managed to have some of the salsa, which was just spicy enough to challenge me.
The blue men were entertaining as usual, even though the show has not changed one whit since the first time I saw it about 4 years ago. Every look, every arm motion, it's all orchestrated, and I found myself zoning out slightly until they got to the more purely musical segments, where I could revel in the tube sounds and the percussion rumble that reached under our feet.
I am hoping to see my dad again Monday evening.
Tonight, I said goodbye to my friend Matt over sushi and sake, at the ever-lovely Pacific Cafe. Too many goodbyes, too many leavings. It was all too much, and as I sat down at the table across from him tonight, I found myself getting all stupid choked up and emotional. After the edamame arrived, and a few sips of the warmed sake slid like green fire down my throat, I felt calmer, a little more able to handle all this change. We talked and talked, and then walked across North Ave., and then parted ways. I'll see him again briefly before he really leaves, but this was a good proper goodbye.
I crossed Milwaukee, thought maybe I'd catch a cab, and then just ended up walking home. The night was velvety dark and all mine, clicks and chirps of insects in the canopies of trees overhead, sodium lights and apartment buildings illuminating everything in city light. My feet hit the pavement in a steady rhythm, my keys opened the locks in my door, my eyes took in the stacks of boxes all around, and suddenly I realized that it didn't drown me so much any more. I was treading. I was not gasping for air.
I'm hoping it wasn't just the sake.
