Sunday, July 02, 2006
My Canada Day evening was shaping up to be pretty crappy at 8:30 last night. All my friends were busy, the Bro was watching jazz with his friends, my parents had gone to the country, and Hayley had to work in two hours and still hadn't called me.
I drowned my sorrows in a sunset rollerblade along the seawall, which was great. The blackberry blossoms are out now, and you wouldn't think that they smell like anything, but they do. They smell like being 11 years old and eating freezies on a dock while fishing for minnows. They smell like the last time I was ever really, really comfortable in my body, at 12 years old in a little pink bathing suit, all skinny limbs and long hair. They smell like summers in the country and lemonade stands and scraped knees. They smell like being young and free and happy, which I suppose I still am.
I went down to the beach and watched the bunnies and bams for a while. They were cute and fluffy, but not terribly interesting.
I called the Boy and bitched to him about having nothing to do. He didn't really deserve my ranting, but he listened and reassured me that I wasn't really a loser like the truly lovely boy that he is.
I had a dream the other night that one of the guys in my life, either the Bro or the Boy, had had their intestines violently removed for some reason. There was a little hole in their abdomen where their intestines had been taken out, and I kept trying to convince them that without intestines you could never survive, but they wouldn't listen to me. I was distraught and sad but it didn't matter. They just shrugged it off stoically and pulled their t-shirt over the little bloody wound.
Then, just before 9:00, a miracle. Hayley called me, barely awake, and when I complained to her about my shitty night she decided to call in sick to work to hang out with me. Aw. We got incredibly drunk on vodka and went to watch the Canada Day fireworks in the park. We started making out in the grass and I would have gone a lot further than that if I had actually been aware enough to realise that we were in fact alone, the whole park having been emptied in the hour or so that we had been sitting around talking about Fate and Solipsism and why I should have attacked the guy who grabbed my breast on Commercial Street the other night.
But instead we went back to my place, where the Bro and his pals were drinking Gato Negro red wine (such children!) and listening to John Coltrane. I unearthed some pot that had been lying in a drawer for literally two years and rolled a joint with surprising accuracy given my Stoli-befuddled brain waves. I had to stop Hayley from eating some magic mushrooms that were also two years old, because I didn't want her to die. We did get ridiculously stoned (who knew THC sticks around that long?) and went to bed, which was interesting. It was somewhat rougher, wilder, and stranger than usual, but also more affectionate in some ways.
We barely slept. 10:00 am dawned ridiculously bright and hungover and the birds sang and we dragged ourselves out of my tiny little bed and out for breakfast.
Hayley's all sleepy and adorable this morning, and I am so in love with her.
I really have to go back to my aunt's and feed the cat. She will hate me even more than she already does.
Well, good morning everyone.
I hope you're all enjoying the sunshine.
p.s. that photo above is of the hilarious people who conceived, created, and raised me. Thanks, guys. This life is a good one.