Harry's fault
On Friday my Ablettless Cats defeated Collingwood in a game I shamefully thought they would lose. It was a good start to the weekend with Kym and I making broccoli and blue cheese soup, spag and meatballs and watching the game at home (Kym can't do pubs so the Paddo was out unfortunately).
On Saturday morning I bounded to the gym for a pump class and then spent a couple of hours ambling around Northbridge and North Perth, buying coffee and finishing Murakami in shady local spots. Later I crashed a little; it would seem my heart was not quite ready for Cohen. But then Evi arrived with a curling wand and false eyelashes and looking like a million bucks we headed to the birthday party.
Balloons on CY O'Connor beach, dinner at Char Char Bull, denied entry at East End Bar, admitted to the Clink (and oh the memories started) - a more hideous venue I have not encountered. Until, after much dithering, we wound up at the Newport. The good old Newport.
Security these days is ridiculously over the top, but once in the cavernous bowels of the building it felt so good to dance, embraced by the memories of past Newport nights. And I was hit on by a fresh 21 year old celebrating his birthday, wanting a kiss. "But it's my birthday" he said. Bless.
On Sunday after rpm, I set to cleaning the hubcap I'm going to paint for Ross's birthday and man those things are filthy. My hands look like those of a gay mechanic. All red nailpolish and wheel grease. Classy.
And, here is the part that is Harry's fault. Harry had recommended the film Barney's Version a few weeks ago, and it was still showing at the Luna so I went to see it at 4pm. Alone in a room full of couples, it was one of the most heartbreaking films I've ever seen. A wonderful film, but but worked like a hot poker in my heart. I called M on the way home and after almost 40 minutes on the phone I said I would go to his house for tea (tea???) rather than talking on the phone.
And although this sounds like a cliche, it's true: it felt like a homecoming. And not because of the house.
I told him I missed him. "So why did you leave?"
But I was not abandoning him, at least I didn't think so. The clanging emptiness of the house speaks otherwise, and what joy to make coffee this morning. So, we part again on muddied waters, and then a phone call from the airport "I'm glad you came but we have to talk"... a mess, but finally it was him saying the hard stuff. Post birthday weekend will be a time for words. And tea?
On Saturday morning I bounded to the gym for a pump class and then spent a couple of hours ambling around Northbridge and North Perth, buying coffee and finishing Murakami in shady local spots. Later I crashed a little; it would seem my heart was not quite ready for Cohen. But then Evi arrived with a curling wand and false eyelashes and looking like a million bucks we headed to the birthday party.
Balloons on CY O'Connor beach, dinner at Char Char Bull, denied entry at East End Bar, admitted to the Clink (and oh the memories started) - a more hideous venue I have not encountered. Until, after much dithering, we wound up at the Newport. The good old Newport.
Security these days is ridiculously over the top, but once in the cavernous bowels of the building it felt so good to dance, embraced by the memories of past Newport nights. And I was hit on by a fresh 21 year old celebrating his birthday, wanting a kiss. "But it's my birthday" he said. Bless.
On Sunday after rpm, I set to cleaning the hubcap I'm going to paint for Ross's birthday and man those things are filthy. My hands look like those of a gay mechanic. All red nailpolish and wheel grease. Classy.
And, here is the part that is Harry's fault. Harry had recommended the film Barney's Version a few weeks ago, and it was still showing at the Luna so I went to see it at 4pm. Alone in a room full of couples, it was one of the most heartbreaking films I've ever seen. A wonderful film, but but worked like a hot poker in my heart. I called M on the way home and after almost 40 minutes on the phone I said I would go to his house for tea (tea???) rather than talking on the phone.
And although this sounds like a cliche, it's true: it felt like a homecoming. And not because of the house.
I told him I missed him. "So why did you leave?"
But I was not abandoning him, at least I didn't think so. The clanging emptiness of the house speaks otherwise, and what joy to make coffee this morning. So, we part again on muddied waters, and then a phone call from the airport "I'm glad you came but we have to talk"... a mess, but finally it was him saying the hard stuff. Post birthday weekend will be a time for words. And tea?
posted by BanAnna at 5/15/2011 05:11:00 pm
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