I went out with my mom to dinner last night. It was the first time I had seen her since Easter. I had spent the day cleaning my house, getting things cleared up at Hunter and tried making my life seem a little more presentable. I have been living in the exact same situation for a year and a half now. I have been in New York for that long, have had the same job at a bookstore for that long, have created nothing, had one brief romantic involvement, and have been too content with too many aspects of my life. I am not really sure that I have developed much as a person here in any big way. I am better read and more knowledgeable about art, but so what? Am I better person because of it?
So whenever, I am about to see my mom again, I rush and do things beforehand so that I have things to tell her, so I can make it seem not only to her, but to myself, that I am doing things with my life, that I am progressing toward something. There was this line in David Sedaris’ new book that stood out not only because it was a moment of sharp insight, but also because it was the only one to appear in the book. A stranger comes into his house, his disordered house, and only in those moments does one sees how one’s house actually looks, how messy it is, when the eyes of someone else notices those things. Seeing my mom produces a similar effect. It is not so much an attempt to please my mom, but the stunning realization that my house is disgusting. My life is just as messy, just as in need of cleaning.
My mom had highlights in her hair, a new thing. It was odd when I saw her walking down the street approaching me and saw that her hair was not totally brown. When our bodies met, when we hugged, I saw that her hair was longer also. Her boy haircut that she has had ever since I can remember has grown out. It looked really good. I asked about it, and she said that it’s the first time she’s had long hair since college. She was wearing a really nice suit, and a pink shirt. These were all shocking to see. My mom does not wear bright colors often, or didn’t. She even had a pink handbag and pink nail polish. She had nails. Normally she chewed her nails and had none. She was even wearing pumps. Normally, I am used to seeing my mom doing that female bureaucrat habit of wearing ugly sneakers with a nice outfit. It was really nice to see my mom making changes. I think she is really enjoying her life now that both her kids are grown and my dad is out of the picture. It makes me really happy to see this, and if my mom can continue to change and improve in middle age, than surely I, twenty some years younger than her, can find a drive, can find the desire to will happiness, the life I want.
The remnants of Ivan have been causing the occasional shower this evening. I walked through one on my way to the grocery store under the protection of an umbrella. While waiting at an intersection to cross, I looked up at a streetlamp and saw the rain furiously passing beneath it, looking like snow. Add this to my favorite sights in this world: precipitation passing in front of the yellow halo of a streetlamp.
Most of this day was spent incredibly hungover. I did manage however to go to the dermatologist and to Hunter. The rest of the day, though, totally shot, and spent sleeping or trying to in my bed, my body aching from the insane quantity of rum I consumed last night at the Hole. It was that ten dollar all you can drink deal, and this always causes me to way overindulge. And rum makes me a little more wild than I normally would be. I danced to lots of fun music, smoked some pot, talked to various people including Andrew Hossack, who I secretly wanted to make out with. I then did make out with this boy I had traded shirts with at a party back in March. And I gave him brief head at the bar. I stopped though to dance to a Violent Femmes song.
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