outer-jessie's Diaryland Diary

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Catfish New Orleans

Ah, zebra cakes.

Hi!

It's Wednesday day, and my honorary weekend has come to a close. It was half-hideous and half-heavenly. Using a conversation with Rob to sum up the hideous half:

Rob: We weren't having sex because we weren't getting along.

Me: No, we weren't getting along because we weren't having sex.

Rob: No, we were going to but you were mad at me so we didn't.

Me: But why was I mad at you?

Rob: Sex!

Ha!

But that half the weekend was only hideous Rob-wise. After my crack-of-dawn arrival at work on Friday, I worked out at the gym for a good long time before going home (I think that was Friday; it might have been Thursday). Saturday was the GRE at Suffolk University, which is up on Beacon Hill in Boston, behind the State House. The test went eh, it took me longer than I thought it would, which is probably a good thing, and there were definitely things I recognized and am fairly sure I answered correctly -- a distinctly different experience from the first time I took it, let me tell you. Ooh, and I had to borrow a number two pencil (who brings a number four to a standardized test, I ask you? Me, that's who) from the student proctor who bore a striking resemblance to the Child-Like Empress. I was smitten.

Apres the test, I wandered through Beacon Hill trying to find my way to my sister's dorm, and that was a good time because Beacon Hill is gorgeous. It's exactly how I would want Boston to look if I was picturing it in my mind. It's very swanky, but you can't tell that unless you already know it; if you don't know it, you think you've fallen into through a time warp into a neighborhood untouched by the last hundred and fifty years. You wouldn't be surprised to see a horse and buggy trotting through, followed by a man lighting the oil lamps with a match.

Yes, sometimes my imagination runs away with me, but it's good exercise.

My sister and I finagled a bagel when we eventually met up, and downed white hot chocolate -- or is it hot white chocolate? -- before doing some Christmas shopping. I went home with a huge bag from Marshall's and a huge bag from FAO Shwartz. And when I got back, Rob was still in bed, and it was about quarter of two. *frownie*

Ok, so the rest of Saturday and then Sunday sucked; I can remember nothing beyond lying in bed like a lump for eight hours at a time, and at times crying.

Crying is a funny thing. It's not romantic like in the movies, or in a book; people can do the most worldly and profane tasks while crying. Take blowing your nose, for instance. I dare say nearly everyone has to blow their nose while they're crying, and god FORBID you should look in the mirror while doing this, you just might pass out from the awfulness. You can wash the dishes while you cry, a wholly unromantic state of affairs. You can lean down and pick lint off your pant leg while crying, you can play with blocks while crying, you can do push-ups, you can eat a salad, you can tie your shoes. It's so unfair. The world should stop being annoying when we feel bad.

The other thing about crying is that it is, for me, rarely about the thing that caused it. It's funny because I was talking to Tres about something related to this last week: some of us don't allow ourselves to cry. It makes us feel weak or fragile or pathetic or any number of things. And then again, some of us, yours truly included, will cry at the drop of a hat if exposed to something poignant involving other people, or because we fell down and no one was there to pick us up, or because our boyfriends are infuriating, or because we're touched by some other person's situation...but I posit this hypothesis: that we are really crying for ourselves, for the things we need to cry about but can't. For our sick grandfathers and lost friends and past injustices and feelings we can't help.

Maybe.

*ahem* What did I do Monday? Oh yeah. You can draw your own conclusions.

Yesterday was the long-awaited last day of dance classes. I got all dressed up, right down to the sexy boots (godDAMN I need to get cushy insoles for those things), and we waltzed and tangoed and Rob stepped on my feet and it was raining and we only had one umbrella and he was soaked and my feet REALLY hurt and we got lost on the way to Church Street and THEN we stumbled into the Border Cafe, I fetched us a couple margaritas (holy crap, I've been spelling that wrong all week), and we were seated comfortably downstairs and completely drunk in ten minutes' time. Ah, the joys of being lightweights.

We had a fantastic time, and it was everything I wanted it to be, right down to the crawfish etouffee.

*sigh* I'm sorry the weekend is over. But hey, it starts up again in two days! Too bad I have to work on Sunday. But hey, three day weekend next week! Very sad that all you guys don't have a three day weekend. But hey...I'm not you! On the other hand, you're not me, which again is very sad. But hey...you're you!

*everyone wins, we all go home, this entry ends*

11:34 a.m. - 2002-11-13

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