August 9, 2009

Hung over.

I would say that the party last night was a great success. That moment when Wenderoth donned a tutu and shouted the first few lines from the Iliad, except every other word was “FUCK.” Brilliant. I can’t remember much of it, considering how the three of us finished off seven boxes of wine.

Thank you for teaching me how to make a casserole. I’m sorry the first one burnt, but in actuality, I am not sorry at all because I was privileged enough to watch you in your element. And your element, BA, is carefully arranging chopped onions and carrots into a casserole dish while humming along to the resonant voice of Frank Sinatra.

“I love foxtrotting to this stuff,” you said.

I learn something new about you every day, BA.

My head hurts as though an industrial size washing machine has been thrown against my forehead repeatedly. Somewhere through the haze of pain, there is the blurry memory of you sitting on my futon, petting Jacques as we lean into each other, shoulders touching.

This is what will get me through the day.

AB

PS- You left your sweater.