Ah, laundry! Finally, I get to do you after two weeks of waiting for the machines to be free, waiting for the right number of quarters, waiting for an evening where I wasn't occupied. If I admit that I love having freshly-cleaned clothes, does that make me old and boring?
I think, I hope, I've finally broken the streak of bad that attacked me the first two weeks of the year. The gums are mostly healed, the heartwound closing up into just another scar, the pride picked up and put back together in a semblance of a whole. The string of bad has died down, the tears have dried and I don't feel like I'm drowning in them anymore. All that's left is a lingering cough (which has moved up from the lungs into my sinuses, so now I'm coughing and have ear pressure problems, hooray), a hole in my mouth that catches stray lentils, and a messy apartment to cleanse of the stench of sorrow and dead 2011.
Last Saturday I hung out with old friends, some of whom I've known since 2000 (when we met in person - 1999 if you count when we met online). It was a mellow night of light drinking and little debauchery, and I pointed out that if the ghosts of our turn-of-the-millenium selves could see us now they might be a bit disappointed. Ten, 12 years ago there would have been a line of open liquor bottles in the room, and more laughing and nakedness and goofiness.
Despite the tameness, though, it was a good and cathartic evening. The next day I did brunch at Foreign Cinema for the birthday of Michelle, a friend from high school, hung over and tired but more at peace than I'd been since the year started. (That's not necessarily saying much, sure ...)
I miss my out-of-town friends. I especially miss having a best friend.
It started raining tonight, supposedly the beginning of a week of rain. This is SF: I'll only believe that when I see it. I miss a good, drenching rain.
On Monday I went and saw a short piece that my friend Jeremy had written for San Francisco Theater Pub. (By the way, this is a great, practically-free way to get some more theater in your life without all the muss and fuss of a formal theater house. Plus, you can drink beer. Or wine. Your choice.) It's the second time I've been to an SFTP event, and both times I've really enjoyed myself. Not a bad thing to do on a Monday night. I might even hit up the Valentine's Day event, to help me forget that I won't be getting laid that night.