Sunday

I smoked a lot last night but stayed otherwise sober, out till 1, so not too late, not really present but not wanting to go home quite yet, but still, at some point, laughing to tears, the first real laugh in a while, maybe in the last three, four years.

The night had steps: From the concert where we got on the guest list and didn’t use our drink tickets to the bar where three guys from Chicago bought us drinks, realized we were lesbians, and then promptly left without saying goodbye, to the gay bar in the Village I haven’t set foot in since baby dyke days in college, drunk and stumbling and trying to understand how to talk to a woman.

I went home and slept till 9:30, waking up several times from 6 AM onwards, and eventually got up to do yoga to my emo playlist, read my travel book on the treadmill, eat some last-minute, non-committal meal (I’ve been trying to cook more, but I just eat ingredients), and rush to pilates.

The weather is warming up and I am thawing. Things feel heavy still in my joints, the swelling, the soot. I drag myself and my body through the day. Last night we were all on a mission to find something, but nobody had any luck. Oh well. A sign from the Universe, as soon as any, to finally, finally sleep through the night.