"tucked myself into a mountain"

 A long but lovely weekend.

 

Slow to start, but laundry and dishes and finally getting to pick up Sparkledragon at the dealership.  Fruit buying at whole foods, and then getting stuck in the exercise in gridlock that is Somerville's porchfest.  And finally, to Salem to hang out with K, N & J and go to their amazing cheese store (as in one they shop at, not one they own) and eat on their porch and watch their birdfeeder and then play a game so good that I announced we were ordering it, which I think I've only ever done with one or two games.  (they will get usenames instead of initials, but it's possible I collectively think of them as competence porn)

 

It's neat to watch myself actually being comfortable with people. I think I'm not actually trying to be anyone in particular, it doesn't feel like wearing the wrong size shoes or performing an undermemorized play.   I don't know how exactly I made the distinction between friendly and friends, or how there can be a process of becoming without me feeling any particular rush but it's really nice. 

 

I've been having these strange icepick headaches since Friday.  I'm not sure if there's something going on with my sinuses, something going on with  my allergies, a new exciting kind of migraine.  They last like 5 seconds max, they're excruciiating and I'm going to give them another week and then I'm actually going to call the doctor about them.

 

We got home late last night (totally worth it) and then my brain decided 5:30 was a good time to be awake, and then I just sat on the couch in a hoodie and nothing else and shivered for a while before I remembered about those things called pants and blankets.  I addressed the problem, fell asleep on the couch, fell off of the couch, and decided that  meant I was tired enough to go back to bed.   Cue more sleep, then a bunch of episodes of Runaways and a shower, after which I changed my underwear and got back into my pajamas

 

I had plans for the day, I did.   Grocery shopping and cooking and cleaning and reading.  Now I have plans for the day that involve staring mostly blankly at things and reading cookbooks (which accomplishes neither the cooking nor the shopping, but feels almost as productive and doesn't require real pants).

 

I  have what feels like a giant pile of half-started notebooks with notes about various things in them, many of which I'm sure made perfect sense at the time and little to no sense now.  There are a couple that are labeled do not read, which are from problematic points that I should have a lot more distance on before I delve into, but some of them are reminding me of books I read or places I want to go, or thoughts that bear more thinking.

 

Also, I found a series of first lines for the novels I'm never writing. 

• They called themselves eco-terrorists. We didn't realize they were also aliens until years after the fact. 
• When I knew what I had to do I invited all my demons to tea, soothed them and plied them with handmade scones and crustless sandwiches. I knew they had no mercy, but if I hoped, I would have hoped they had good manners.  
• Strangely enough, the buses still ran.  The apps couldn't predict them and sometimes you couldn't look directly at the drivers, but they still ran.
• I don't forget he left me anymore, but I still sometimes want to tell him about my day, something I read, something I heard. Maybe I want an audience just as much as he did, I just knew you have to pay for what you get. Or maybe he knew and I forgot.

Time to stop restlessly telling google music "next" and make a mother's day call I don't want to make,