Saturday, January 4, 2003

When it comes down to it there are lots of things on my mind but not lots I want to say in here.

Or the time or energy to do it. I've been busy. Making money, seeing people. Having wonderful dinners out with glorious friends, laughing and talking intensely about all sorts of things. There's also been this sense of the potential for loss that exists in everything, in every friendship and in every new beginning; that sometimes scares me into silence or inaction. At the same time though, I think of how I didn't know about some of the most beautiful relationships and events in my life a minute before they happened, and it pushes me back into reality, back into the pure joy of the unknown, and the hard knowledge of living for the moment and for yourself.

Still though. It exists, the fragility of a new thing, the careful balancing of energy, of planning too much or too little. The feeling of continually being mindful of not fucking it up. And the sheer joy that comes over me when I realize I'm in the middle of what will become a really great memory--dinner out with Sarah last night, red neon lighting on our skin, red wine in our systems, great food on the table. We decided to celebrate some recent things and the money we came into on New Year's Eve, and went to the Keg. The home of the $20.95 entree. We had salads, to say the least, and lots to drink, and appetizers, talked of travels, and people, and life. On the way home, we giggled about our drunkenness, and she sang from the musical Oliver. This goes up there in my 'great dinners out' memory category, of which there are three others in the Adult section. (Read: since I've considered myself an adult, or on the verge at least, or, meals I've paid for myself.) Of course, all time best goes to Claire and I at Governer's, that incredibly hot night in August.

Maybe it's because I'm a Taurus, but dining out, good food, wine, all seems to me to be almost sacred things. I love the bond that happens over a great table, in a great eatery, the conversation that gets punctuated by forks and glasses, the rolling of subjects, one into another, the timing and the waiting for dishes, the anticipation of that new thing you're going to try, the giddiness of the laughter, the decadence of eating out. And for a young kid like myself, living on not much money, sometimes it's nice to blow money on something wonderful like that.

Plus, and this is something Claire taught me, money should be a means to an end, not an end in itself. What you're getting for your money is more important than the money itself. You can't take it with you when you go.

Happy New Year, folks.

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