the party, by the way, was a blast. there were twinkly lights lining the window and candles floating in the bathtub and fresh flowers throughout the house. there was lumpia and chips and guacamole and salsa and spinach dip. there was beer and wine and vodka and rum and slices of lime and ice, plenty of ice. at one point, i looked around the room and i only recognized half of the people, but they were all smiling.
we measured the success of the party by the amount of food left over (none), the number of complaints we received about the noise (zero), and the appearance of our house after it was all over (clean).
everyone seemed amused that i had moved three times within one year, and even more so, that three of my roommates (past and now present) were at the party. it was almost as if i were there with my boyfriend and two ex-es and i should worry that they might huddle in a corner and compare notes about me. rima called me a geographic gigolo, because i’ve drifted from roommate to roommate.
“and now you’re throwing a party,” added john. “does that mean you’re staying for a while?”
the next day, rima and i went to a neighborhood diner for some greasy grub and walked home in the scorching heat.
and then we did nothing else.
“it’s okay. we’re in recovery,” she said.
this week has been a strange week. that holiday sitting out of place like a zit on your nose. today feels like monday, but tomorrow is friday, and i am so confused. my brain has been taxed lately, as it is. i am actually using it again. i think that’s why.
my mind gets especially boggled when i look around myself and notice that i am the youngest in the room. like last week, i was sitting in a thai restaurant when my co-workers started to talk about life in their 20s and i took a quiet sip of my thai iced tea and i thought, “but i am in my 20s.”
i know i’m getting old because after lunch i bought a pair of pants at ann taylor, a place i used to tell myself i would shop at if i ever grew up.