The sun and the rain

Good things come in threes. We saved a tiny bit of money, got certain errors (not ours!) corrected, and an unexpected, excellent position for one of us. It was such a fruitful day. It’d been a while, when things fell into places without much hitches. The sense of gaiety was making my steps lighter than they were in months.

So it was a letdown, when a day or two later, the bad came back in full force (or so I thought). The disappointments were made huger after the seventh heaven less than a while ago.

Before I could recover from feeling like shit, the real shit decided to pay me a small visit. Not me, actually. I was not the main lead but I felt it. I’d since been living out of my backpack, and rest was elusive.

But I am home now. It does seem to be such a long time since I sit down here and type something to post in the blog. It feels weird.

Or maybe I am just tired. I am going to bed.

*

To the J & B boys,

I got the email. I’m sorry I haven’t had the time to reply to you. As you can see, I am quite maxed out now. I would get back to you boys soon, after everything goes back on track.

Thanks for being so patient.

"They will rebuild as they have after storms of the past; and they will stay in New Orleans because it is where they have always lived, where their mothers and their fathers lived, where their churches were built by their ancestors, where their family graves carry names that go back 200 years. They will stay in New Orleans where they can enjoy a sweetness of family life that other communities lost long ago.

But to my country I want to say this: During this crisis you failed us. You looked down on us; you dismissed our victims; you dismissed us. You want our Jazz Fest, you want our Mardi Gras, you want our cooking and our music. Then when you saw us in real trouble, when you saw a tiny minority preying on the weak among us, you called us "Sin City," and turned your backs.

Well, we are a lot more than all that. And though we may seem the most exotic, the most atmospheric and, at times, the most downtrodden part of this land, we are still part of it. We are Americans. We are you."

-Anne Rice, in The New York Times
Do You Know What It Means to Lose New Orleans?

Last night in town

I met up with the girls in black for an impromptu nightcap at breko's, where at least 70% of the population were wearing the same color. I called the color, the uniform.

It was fun. We laughed at everything and everyone and not sparing even ourselves. My cheek and abdominal muscles were thoroughly exhausted. We built up quite an archive of favorite jokes and phrases (“I am torn between two choices..”) by the end of the night. It was all good.

*

“Coach seemed to be disappointed with me (us); why, I was disappointed with me.
Pop seemed to be ashamed of me; I was feeling ashamed of me.
PurpleKnight seemed to look down on me; I was not proud of myself either.”

When the feeling of aloneness is matched by the want to be left alone.