Welcome To My Bed

Reading Plath doesn't have to mean you're depressed.

I have woken up twice today. The first time was because the cats were jumping on me and the living room window was letting in way too much cold air for me to keep sleeping with only summer-weight blankets on. I ended up staying awake reading and writing for about three hours, then attempting sleep for a second time. The second time I woke up with a hangover I didn't have upon initial waking. I am not happy about this. The culprit:

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My bar tab was $6.50, but this wonderous Rhode Island native is about as cheap as PBR and far better tasting. I ordered four and shared about the equivalent of one full beer with a friend over the course of the night, so I basically drank a 40 at Tazza last night. Forties used to be a cake-walk for me. I feel old.

In spite of the resultant headache etc. it caused, yesterday was probably the best day I've had in recent memory. I woke up around noon, listened to Florence almost a dozen times on repeat while trying to find appropriate going-out clothes that wouldn't make me seem ludicrous during the daytime excursions that were to lead into the nighttime ones. Then I took the bus downtown to White Electric, a spare and clean coffee shop on the West side that is my new love for wasting away afternoons, getting caught in the rain for the second time in so many days. On Tuesday night, I was so drenched that the man who runs the convenience store near my city line bus stop ran out with a plastic bag he had cut a hole in so that I would have some semblance of a raincoat, but I was already past helping. Yesterday I was better off, as the brunt of the flash flood took place while I was safely on the bus and I only had to walk two blocks in a drizzle to get to my caffeine. I camped out with a heavenly soup bowl-sized dark roast and The Bell Jar, reading for an hour and half at least. I haven't had that kind of uninterrupted quiet to myself in too long with all the craziness of running back and forth to South County for work and my sister's turbulent love life.

Afterwards Erick and I met up and went to Coffee Exchange on the East side, which was open much later and is one of his favorite spots. We talked for a solid two hours at least and had a wonderful time doing so. Just when I get concerned that maybe I'm not as well settled here as I want to be, I have a day like yesterday and everything makes me grin uncontrollably again.

The show at Tazza was wonderful, as I knew it would be. The place was more packed than I've seen it on a Wednesday before, which was exciting. It was so satisfying to have all of my friends in one place, doing what they do best and loving every minute of it. I keep saying that I need to get a guitar so that I'm not the only non-musician, and I say that because they all inspire me with how diverse their sounds are and how much joy they seem to get from what they do.

So here I am, many Gansetts later and under the weather but still basking in the afterglow.