entertaining in slippers, long weekends, you
It feels good to enter a Sunday vaguely tracksuited. Indifferently scruffy but also a little bit purposeful. I also like entertaining in slippers. Like tonight. Except my slippers got so warm I started overheating and had to go barefoot for a while. I also like pretending to entertain when actually all I am doing is hanging out in my slippers and a nearly knee-length hoody, and dinner is brought to us by the dinner guest. That works quite well for me.
As I was driving around the Thorndon New World carpark this afternoon listening to soft 90s rap quite loud, feeling a bit edgy and gangsterish, I took stock of some of the conversations I have had so far this long weekend. Sometimes I have to do this or I’ll just forget everything a day later and it will be gone forever. (#goldfishbrain)
I made a bit of a list, conveniently synopsised. It may or may not make good reading. I make no promises.
Conversation 1. The mind altered by substances. Murky nostalgia for the double-edged drug days. Then and now.
Conversation 2. Twitter WTF 101. This resulted in me talking all work-like outside work, which hardly ever happens. I gave my internet filter argument. i.e. it’s a way to get stuff you actually give a shit about. To mine a vast dumping ground of information and feel like you’re coming out on top. But I can see how the time-suck/why bother/digital tail chasing argument comes up. I got a few cock-eyed looks from around the table. (But proceeded regardless.)
Conversation 3. Carwash Bear. Carwash Bear has become a weekend favourite. He/she (hard to tell from the padded costume) lures punters in for fundraising carwashes on the Mt Cook side of the Basin. We didn’t see Carwash Bear today because of all the rain, so we sat in the car with the windows all steamed up and talked about Carwash Bear instead. Not quite as good, but an okay substitute.
Conversation 4. How much to give of yourself on the internet. I have no idea. I think about it a lot though. How to be open enough to be halfway meaningful and human without offering up the private minutiae of your life like some kind of women’s mag tell-all? How to admit to vulnerability on the (very public) record and still stay shielded? It’s hard to just idly dangle your toes in the water.
Sometimes I forget how public this is. Until I bump into someone I sort of but only sort of know in the deli section at the supermarket and they already know what I did in the weekend. I don’t have a problem with this. It’s just a shift in things. And it’s the shift that’s interesting, to me, at least.
Uh-oh. I can feel my work mode coming on again. I will save any further talk of ‘the shift’ for the whitepaper I’ll probably never get around to writing.
Conversation 5. How much I like The Lighthouse Family. I listened to them (among other things) until 4.30 this morning. Which was stupid. Not TLF part. The 4.30 part. I’m never met with much support in my TLF conversations. In fact, Seal Lite was the most supportive comment I got about TLF this weekend. The only person who gets it lives in Sweden. I don’t know if we’ll jump on beds together ever again, spilling our drinks through the sheets to TLF. Or climb out onto icy rooftops balancing G&Ts in one hand, negotiating slippery roof tiles, all to the sweet tunes of TLF. It’s purely situational, I guess. Not that I’m making excuses for it. I would never do that.
Conversation 6. The Hollywood movie making machine.
Conversation 7. Forgiveness and understanding.
Conversation 8. Rapture, by Carol Ann Duffy. I was pleased to be reminded how much I like this little book, and even more pleased that it’s one of the few books still on our bookshelves. I think this is my favourite poem of the volume.
YOU Uninvited, the thought of you stayed too late in my head, so I went to bed, dreaming you hard, hard, woke with your name, like tears, soft, salt, on my lips, the sound of its bright syllables like a charm, like a spell. Falling in love is glamorous hell: the crouched, parched heart like a tiger, ready to kill; a flame’s fierce licks under the skin. Into my life, larger than life, beautiful, you strolled in. I hid in my ordinary days, in the long grass of routine, in my camouflage rooms. You sprawled in my gaze, staring back from anyone’s face, from the shape of a cloud, from the pining, earth-struck moon which gapes at me as I open the bedroom door. The curtains stir. There you are on the bed, like a gift, like a touchable dream.
And I think I’ll leave it there.
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