Feeling somewhat exhausted and cranky, I have decided to follow Meghan’s example and list ten good things from the past week or so. It feels very positive. I might make a habit of it.
1. I met someone from the Internet. The first person I have ever met from online that wasn’t connected to me in real life. And they were not creepy or weird at all! Who’d have guessed it?
2. The new pot I have, a 24 inch Le Creuset stewing pot. Which is what happens when I happen to mention to my dad that I need a big pot for doing large meals. Receiving surprise presents that are genuinely useful on a date that means nothing is a wonderful and unusual thing. I never thought I would be the man who would get excited about cookware, but now I’m glad I am that man.
3. Tap water these days. It’s so cold.
4. Juana Molina. Found this week. My gift to you. She happened to be playing Wednesday night in Madrid but instead I went to meet a friend for:
5. Mojitos. And it’s something that should not become pedestrian, that I can fly to a city a thousand miles away in a foreign country and happen to have a good friend living right there, and go for dinner and drinks and talk about nothing much.
6. The tea I had Thursday evening just before leaving for the airport. When I was more or less finished working and only had to kill ten minutes. Darjeeling in a glass cup. You can see what’s going on in glass cups. I am going to get one.
7. My sister gave me a woolen cardigan in late summer. It is thick and dark and lined with fleece. It maybe weighs a couple of pounds. I haven’t been able to wear it until now; the days haven’t been cold enough. But I put it on and it feels like I’m being hugged by a sheep. I look like a medieval king.
8. A lazy Saturday hunting costume bits with a friend. We call into my brother’s apartment and have tea. This year, with both myself and my brother living in the city, it feels like some version of the future. The good one.
9. A costume party on Saturday night where everyone was really trying. There are few things funnier than this. An air of competition emerges. Nobody wants to be the one who half-asses it.
10. Walking home on Sunday morning at 9 o’ clock. It’s clear and bright and beautiful and I’ve had perhaps an hour and a half’s sleep. I’m probably slightly drunk still. The walk brings me right along the lower length of the Grand Canal, empty of people. I have a sing of Raglan Road because it suits the season, and I like the timbre that the long night and drinking has given my voice. I should feel bad, but how could you?
Pierce is too kind: I am not creepy, but definitely weird.
