Monday, September 17, 2007
And if the daylight feels like it's a long way off
As I crawled into bed last night, I marvel at how the weekend seemed to fly by as if bolstered by nitrous oxide. Tired to the very marrow of my bones, I don't know that sleep has ever come faster. And I am happy, but the smile doesn't reach my eyes.
Sunday morning, I call Spatch to get her advice on a situation. She suggests brunch in a few hours and says she'll invite a few people. We decide on Essex House and I offer to go early to put our name down.
Right as I'm leaving my apartment, I receive a text from her saying that we'll be a group of 6. Ugh. I can already foresee problems getting a table. I get out of the subway to a new text. We are now a group of 8. The hostess at Essex House essentially laughs in my face. When I press her for an estimate on time, she throws out 2 hours although it could feasibly be longer.
Everyone starts arriving. They are all Burning Man people. And soon we are 9. And although I am friends with most all of them, I will never feel a part of them. Especially when conversation centers almost exclusively around Burning Man and people I don't know and places I've never been. I sit on the perimeter, observing and listening. Not really participating. Spatch promises me some alone time later that doesn't materialize. We are a large and unwieldy group, wandering around the Lower East directionless for seemingly hours. I am quiet and introspective, wondering if its worth my time, trying to fit in with a group of people that I so clearly don't belong with.
We shop in a store that I would never set foot in on my own, and as I browse the garish chunky patent leather heels, I think of the delicate stilettos that I prefer. And Spatch, noticing my reticence presses me about where I shop. I am loathe to even utter the words Banana Republic in a place such a this, for fear that I will taken into the back and flogged.
After an ice cream break in Cold Stone, we all part ways. I have some time to kill before I have to be on the upper east side, so I lounge in Starbucks at Astor Place, and call my sister.
And for the first time since I sobbed in the bathroom after getting his reply text to my breakup, I cry to her about Oscar. It surprises me. I haven't even been tempted to call him. Why am I suddenly sad and missing him?
Today's Title from: Walk On by U2
Sunday morning, I call Spatch to get her advice on a situation. She suggests brunch in a few hours and says she'll invite a few people. We decide on Essex House and I offer to go early to put our name down.
Right as I'm leaving my apartment, I receive a text from her saying that we'll be a group of 6. Ugh. I can already foresee problems getting a table. I get out of the subway to a new text. We are now a group of 8. The hostess at Essex House essentially laughs in my face. When I press her for an estimate on time, she throws out 2 hours although it could feasibly be longer.
Everyone starts arriving. They are all Burning Man people. And soon we are 9. And although I am friends with most all of them, I will never feel a part of them. Especially when conversation centers almost exclusively around Burning Man and people I don't know and places I've never been. I sit on the perimeter, observing and listening. Not really participating. Spatch promises me some alone time later that doesn't materialize. We are a large and unwieldy group, wandering around the Lower East directionless for seemingly hours. I am quiet and introspective, wondering if its worth my time, trying to fit in with a group of people that I so clearly don't belong with.
We shop in a store that I would never set foot in on my own, and as I browse the garish chunky patent leather heels, I think of the delicate stilettos that I prefer. And Spatch, noticing my reticence presses me about where I shop. I am loathe to even utter the words Banana Republic in a place such a this, for fear that I will taken into the back and flogged.
After an ice cream break in Cold Stone, we all part ways. I have some time to kill before I have to be on the upper east side, so I lounge in Starbucks at Astor Place, and call my sister.
And for the first time since I sobbed in the bathroom after getting his reply text to my breakup, I cry to her about Oscar. It surprises me. I haven't even been tempted to call him. Why am I suddenly sad and missing him?
Today's Title from: Walk On by U2
Labels: Spatch
Posted by Chloe
at 9:52 AM |
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