grateful

My problem is that I am long winded. Writing a short blog post is hard for me, and feels a bit unsatisfying. Because also my problem is that I like details. I live for details. I live through them. Details take a long time to write down.

Let's just say that this weekend, I managed not to get so drunk I had to lie down on my kitchen floor in the middle of a date. Let's say that I loved sharing a bag of popcorn with J. and giggling through Julie and Julia. Shall we say that I loved too a green-whipped ride along Scott Street one way and then the other, with Mars having risen higher between them. Let us dwell for a moment on the look of pleased surprise on D.Jack's face when I made myself an Unexpected Megan.

Let's say that I had a great time in Kingston at a wonderful brilliant art show. Let us add that I loved drinking beer outside as part of a faggot sidewalk party. Let us commend the homophobe Kingstoners who shouted that at us for their obviously perceptive nature.

To paraphrase -
Meghan: Do you think you have a thing for musicians?
Megan: I've dated about 3 non-musicians since I was 16.

Maybe too let's say that I tried very hard not to be a pill about my travelling arrangements, but that I only half succeeded. We'll say that I learned a few things about how I need to travel if I'm going to a place where the trains and buses run infrequently out of a station that is inexplicably way the fuck up Chebucto. Let us repeat these four words: Chill The Fuck Out.

Let us also ponder Mae's loveliness, the Mae who said "Okay, you should take the train because we probably won't leave for noon and then you'll be stressed and we'll be rushing. And this way you don't have to make small talk."

Finally, let us say that there are beautiful things, and here is a morning that is a string of them: waking up in a gigantor bed with your best friend, with the craziest bedhead after spending a muggy night tossing and turning. Being in a house with a perfect circle iron grate in the upstairs floor that you can press your eye against to spy on the main floor. Making coffee and eating breakfast with special-bought soy milk and more friendly friends and a nice dog and a cat you buried your face in deliciously even though doing so made you sneeze three times. And let us say that the coffee was good coffee and that the windows were opened onto the densely-leaved backyard.

And we will say that string is sparkling.

What with so much sadness and kvetching lately, I thought I should let you all know that I am having a splendid day.

Though my splendid day did, in fact, start last night.

Yesterday afternoon, I got home around 3:30 and started cooking. I made stew, a whole big vat of stew. I'd invited Shelley, M-C, Steve and the Born Ruffian to help me eat it. Steve couldn't make it, so the four of us hung out and drank wine and ate my very tasty stew and dumplings. I would feign modesty, but really, it was frickin good. M-C and S had to be off early to the Radical Drag show, so the BR and I cleaned up a bit, which is only partially a euphemism.

While I was drying and rearranging the dishes, I checked the message that had come during dinner.

It was from my brother's number, and I got all worried, listening to the prompts and punching in my numbers. "They never call. We email. I hope nothing's wrong. Maybe this is about that life insurance thing I haven't gotten back to him about yet. I hope nothing happened to the kids."

I trailed off because by then, my 3 year old niece was singing happy birthday.

That, I can tell you, is a very good way to start your birthday.

Then the BR and I hied ourselves off as well, and Chad vanGaalen was so good I was disappointed he only played for an hour; and then there was some delicious making out; and then a good sleep with Freya curled up purring by my head; and then this morning my mom singing on my voice mail; and then the emails and phone calls and skype chats from a whole whack of people I'm insanely happy to have in my life.

Tonight I'm having dinner with a small group of the friendliest friends around, then drinks with same, and then a video date with CT.

Honestly, 34 is shaping up to be one banner fucking year.

Yesterday was the big day! Shelley and Steve arrived last night, safe and sound and only somewhat dazed. I spoke to Shelley not too long ago, and their stuff is currently being loaded into their house. My new roomie moved in last night too, and we'll slowly start setting our own habits.

My life this whole summer was about discrete events: moving, CT's visit, the Esses moving in, having a roommate. Now there's just life.

But man, what a life it is.

I went for a drink with one of my pride makeout friends last week, ostensibly to have a conversation I might fully remember. At one point, well into the evening, the Born Ruffian asked me if I liked my life.

Maybe I was a little lightheaded from the drinking, the kissing, but in reply I used a word I often think, but rarely say out loud. I looked at the ceiling, spread my arms as wide as they could go, opened my mouth.

"I feel blessed."