Monday, May 17
we ate breakfast.
it was an impressively complete collection of one of the more tightly-knit friend groups i've had the pleasure of being in the more significant fringes of, as in-law, roommate, and general-purpose 2nd-degree friend. according to rebecca, they're the kind of people who take a lot of pictures. it was only the hostesses (laurel entirely) who were most missing.
unfortunately, alyssa went to bed and (as she informed me shortly after my potential ride had gone) left early in the morning, so i barely got to see her at all. also, amelia didn't collect me for church. but i had a nice time having a conversation with blair (for the first time in ages) about blossom dearie and the art department, talking to emily clough about her childen's book, playing with the kittys bonnie and clyde, washing dishes, and wiggling my toes when i didn't feel like being an otherwise active participant in the shenanigans. it was a party for syttende mai, norvegian independence (which is actually today - so, happy happy) so we had lefsa and some squabbles with swedes (though bjorn and annifrid won out over sondre and erlend.)
in the eventual morning, after sleeping with at least five or so others on alyssa's cat-free floor, and after some ny times reading and some intensely ginger granola (mmm) from bowl-colored bowls, there was a motion to brunch. brunch is a thing, they say. talk about brunchfest leaving the house shortly after noon-thirty (when am got back from kirke), we didn't finish until after three, what with walking twelve blocks to karma, splintering off into a mutiny group (w/ nori, jenny, emily, and a different paul) and heading back up again to the standard tap, a few rounds of 'though my soul…' and waiting at least an hour for food there. at least it was delectable once it arrived - my steak and avocado omlet was phenomenal, and even jenny's tuna melt was probably worth its $9 tag. (though the spoonbread was underwhelming.) the music they were playing was uncannily like a mixtape i might have made c.2002-3.
by the time we finished there was a spot of izzard and it seemed like a worse idea to go to the pma, so i just trained back home, talking about terpsichore and worklife with emily, who's on an 8-week homeless-and-jobless sojourn.
the whole business was passively nice and a touch unfathomable; i think in other circumstances i might have found it panickily nonengaging, but it was just fine to have an island of leisure in among this wrapping-up. it didn't feel removed from my experience, i just felt removed from it. but i do like those people.
i have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night