astronaut ambition

being a weekender

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Mon Jul 24 00 / 2:45 AM

Sunday was foolish, but that's a sentiment reserved for the young and I hope to know it for awhile yet.

I got home from camping at around 5pm. I was sore, I was tired, I was grungy. I planned on happily lounging about eating junk food after a hot shower. It was a good plan. Does that make me a mouse or a man?

After an entire day off-line, the first thing I did upon dropping my knapsack and pillow on the floor was log on. I had 3 waiting messages, and they were all requests for my company. The immediate watery rush dissolved all of my common sense limestone and I accepted as many offers as I could. On to Barrymore's (preceded by the contentment of just being [drunk] and absolutely slaying Who Wants To Be A Millionaire? at Sam's).

I love Barrymore's. It is spacious but full of convenient stools, tables, bars, railings, speakers, stages. It is a converted orchestra hall; the dance floor is in the old pit and the old rising seating area is an upward progression of bars and tables. The golden moulding and glass chandeliers are preserved and twinkle in the dimness from the light of the disco balls. Barrymore's has an atmosphere that is out of its time, and going there for 80s night on a Sunday just seems to make some sort of sense.

I usually always have an excellent go of it. The music is so loud and familiar you have to dance; it becomes as physical a reaction as an orgasm: the more you fight it the better it will be, but it will feel just as good if you dive in and have it all night. Being drunk enough to not be shy with anybody adds something to it all.

So this Sunday I was trying to force my high of the weekend to remain afloat for just a little while longer. I did succeed: I was a lot looser on the dance floor than I'd ever been, I talked with a lot more random people, I was more equitable with my time to two different sets of friends. I was more annoyed at the pretenses of kink in evidence but less annoyed at the pretenses of angst.

It was a typical night, and now I am very tired. But I will keep living a foolish high life because of the dread that one day - in a year, two years, five years? - the tiredness will win before the night begins.

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Lisa Higgs

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*being a weekender*
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latest archive about email links yearbook japan photoblog wish list	Mon Jul 24 00 / 2:45 AM Sunday was foolish, but that's a sentiment reserved for the young and I hope to know it for awhile yet. I got home from camping at around 5pm. I was sore, I was tired, I was grungy. I planned on happily lounging about eating junk food after a hot shower. It was a good plan. Does that make me a mouse or a man? After an entire day off-line, the first thing I did upon dropping my knapsack and pillow on the floor was log on. I had 3 waiting messages, and they were all requests for my company. The immediate watery rush dissolved all of my common sense limestone and I accepted as many offers as I could. On to Barrymore's (preceded by the contentment of just being [drunk] and absolutely slaying Who Wants To Be A Millionaire? at Sam's). I love Barrymore's. It is spacious but full of convenient stools, tables, bars, railings, speakers, stages. It is a converted orchestra hall; the dance floor is in the old pit and the old rising seating area is an upward progression of bars and tables. The golden moulding and glass chandeliers are preserved and twinkle in the dimness from the light of the disco balls. Barrymore's has an atmosphere that is out of its time, and going there for 80s night on a Sunday just seems to make some sort of sense. I usually always have an excellent go of it. The music is so loud and familiar you have to dance; it becomes as physical a reaction as an orgasm: the more you fight it the better it will be, but it will feel just as good if you dive in and have it all night. Being drunk enough to not be shy with anybody adds something to it all. So this Sunday I was trying to force my high of the weekend to remain afloat for just a little while longer. I did succeed: I was a lot looser on the dance floor than I'd ever been, I talked with a lot more random people, I was more equitable with my time to two different sets of friends. I was more annoyed at the pretenses of kink in evidence but less annoyed at the pretenses of angst. It was a typical night, and now I am very tired. But I will keep living a foolish high life because of the dread that one day - in a year, two years, five years? - the tiredness will win before the night begins.
	</>
Lisa Higgs
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