Saturday, January 24, 2009

Glass half full.

I wailed (hard) in my dreams last night. I woke to a damp pillowcase, a creased face, a sore right ear and a heaving chest. In my dream I was shooting a wedding of two lovers whom I was not/am not familiar with. We were in a butterfly pavilion somewhere and it was distracting and dim. I know I was frustrated but they were so beautiful (and faceless--as per usual) so I kept trying. I was myself, observing everything from my usual waking life perspective (in comparison to the usual film reel style I tend to dream in) and seeing things for what they were. My camera kept malfunctioning and when I would notice these insane moments to capture, I would focus and shoot and the film would jam and moss would fall out the bottom of my camera (polaroid style) and I would weep loudly; the sobs catching in my throat. I don't know what this means. I haven't even been taking many photographs lately as my focus has been more silk-screen based in the past few weeks.

After I woke, I got up, made the bed like I do everyday and made a pot of dark coffee and sat placidly at the kitchen table staring outside while spinning an orange on the red table. I did get up once to tune the radio to a station that plays oldies on the regular and just sat looking out. Not happily, but not unhappily either. Eventually I got up again and brushed my teeth, and called Alfie.

"Hey baby. Yes. I'm hungry too. Okay. Take your time. Yes. Okay. I will meet you there then, yeah? Okay. You bring the crossword. Yes, I will call Andrew. Okay. Seeyinabit. Okay, bye".

We met, our timing perfect as we were both late (as per usual) and I got a parcel in the mail from Oregon holding a simple new coffee table book hand bound made with expensive paper. I poured over that while he did the crossword. I kept thinking in my head that it is funny that we call each other 'Baby' (and never 'Babe', gross) when we greet each other on the telephone and yet I would never and will never call my own lover that. Ever. I smiled and sat back, watching him and thinking about all of these things.

"Meg, what's 'In blank, before birth? Five letters".
"In utero, before birth. U-T-E-R-O, five letters".

Of course I would know that. This is the girl who turns inside out with pleasure over labor and delivery stories, all things newborn and miniature. Pathetic. I am terrible at the crossword, but then I will know a word like that without even doubting myself and hope is restored until the next attempt at the Times. At one point after Andrew pulled up a chair cursing the morning's cold, we got to talking about life perspective. As titled, I have a pretty positive foothold. They seemed to be on the same page. At one point Andrew made a quip about not being funny. I laughed because making a quip is generally witty in itself and not easy to pull off effortlessly as he did then. We will never be an earth shattering, knee slapping bunch, but we do laugh; a lot. We laugh at each other and at things we collectively find hilarious because we are comfortable together. I have been feeling quite inadequate lately in the humor department and hearing the boys confirm how we are actually quite funny together lifted the unseen weight from my shoulders. Thank you. We are funny together and that is what matters. I depend in these men for these kinds of things. I love them dearly. I love you dearly.


Anne M picked me up after I walked home from Little Tadpole breakfast with my boyfriends plural, and whisked me off to McNally for Saturday afternoon tea. Jenny Lewis sang to us in our matching orange and red Club Mon cashmere and we fell into each other in one breath. In one single, "Hi girl". Instantly at ease, we waltzed into the busy café carting giant hardcover cookbooks and magazines with matte paper and gave our Sears model server a run for his money.

"I want milk"
"Please. Thanks".

That was a paraphrased excerpt from Fake Bitch. What a woman. I have met my match (well, one of many. How lucky am I? Lucky).

We recapped both of our Monday to Fridays (her first and then me) and this led to eight hundred different veins of conversation (as per usual). I am sure our laughter and antics were annoying in the opinion's of the tea drinkers around us but we carried on unabated, as always. Then we perused the bookstore, slowly, savoring it, weaving in and out of aisles alone and together, the piles in our arms growing as we egged each other on. I didn't need much convincing (or any at all, for that matter) to justify the purchase of a million dollar cookbook titled appropriately as "The Soup Bible". Ten Hail Mary's of thankfulness and of guilt for such an expenditure. Tante Daryl got me hooked on this cookbook a few weeks ago in the first place. We ate dinner together at her teak dining room table and poured over page after page, picture after picture, recipe after recipe. It is mine now. Yes.

Tonight Rabbi, Barfredo, Drewber, Stranglor, Kitty, Mel, Zach, and I will try our hands at Settlers, which none of us have played before. I am sure there will be some karaoke involved, or at the very least singing in the streets; and there will be wine. There is always wine. Another Zaterdag for the books.

And speaking of books, this is my new baby.

1 comment:

  1. I can't believe you didn't include "Where's my goddamned milk?" That was a very nice afternoon interlude. I am about to take a shower with my new soap. I carted it around all last evening, from my parents house to the hockey game and I just kept pulling it out and smelling it. Coo-coo.